


Beau Monde de la Nuit

by Maplesyrup



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Regency, Blood Drinking, Blood Magic, Character Turned Into Vampire, F/M, Once Upon A Time, Regency Romance, Romance, Slow Burn, Supernatural Creatures, Supernatural Elements, Vampire Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Vampire Sex, Vampires, Werewolves, like for real slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-05-19 10:37:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5964229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maplesyrup/pseuds/Maplesyrup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After her father's debts cost her the only home she's known since childhood, Belle French sets out to change her fate. She takes a position as governess for the young ward of a dark and intriguing man.<br/>Belle/Rumplestiltskin Regency AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_Staffordshire, England, June of 1810_

Belle French surveyed what was left of her family estate, after one public auction, three private collectors, and more than enough creditors had had their share of the French family’s belongings. She looked around the foyer, her eyes alighting on the bare walls and coldly-gleaming marble floor that held no joy for her now. What had once been a warm and welcoming home, full of love and comfort, had been reduced to the barest hull, all items of any value having been sold to clear her papa’s debts after his death.

And it wasn’t nearly enough. She would have to sell the house and it would barely cover the rest.

Fighting back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her, she moved from the naked hall, up the still-gleaming wooden stairs, scuffed here and there from careless movers taking her life away, towards her room. Her bed and vanity had been temporarily spared the ransacking the rest of the house had been subject to. 

Belle had called up the last shreds of her bravery and refused entrance to the hulking movers when they came to collect her bedroom set. She had locked the door and in a show of defiance, tucked the key into the front of her dress, in full view of the men gathered about her door. To their credit, perhaps the only credit they deserved, they stammered and left her be, mumbling something about emotional women. So be it. These were the last things belonging to her family that Belle still possessed, aside from a miniature of her mother and a necklace, and she would be hanged before she’d see them go just yet. And perhaps she would be hanged, creditors don’t tend towards putting-off for long—

Belle shook her head as if to shake the thoughts out. It would do no good to give in to such dark thinking. What would mama say if—

Mama.

_Sweet one, I love you so, but you must be brave, now, braver than you’ve ever had to be ..._

Papa.  
  
_My darling girl, it's just too much ... forgive me ..._

A tear tracked its way down her face and fell into her lap, the stain spreading on the blue silk. of her gown. _Why couldn’t I see it? Why did you both have to leave me?_

Belle laid down on the bed and cried.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Belle's personal tragedy, and a few shards thrown in at the end to spur our heroine on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for a brief mention of suicide.

_Two months later…_

Belle awoke to the sounds of a carriage coming up the drive, warm August sunlight filtering through her windows and settling across her face. She yawned and stretched, glancing at the clock on her bedside table. Were they expecting visitors? 

Wakefulness brought back her memory. Gaston would be visiting that day, but it was unusual of him to arrive so early. Probably some bit of gossip from the papers caught his eye and he couldn’t wait to share it with her and Ruby before they’ve even had a chance for a decent breakfast. She looked out her window over the drive, seeing Gaston’s tall form come out from inside the carriage. Sure enough, a paper was tucked under one arm. She sighed and rang for the maid. For a man of nearly five-and-twenty, Gaston had a very narrow view of the world and what was truly important.

* * *

Having finished dressing, Belle made her way downstairs holding her most recent acquisition: a copy of the new novel, _Sense & Sensibility, _a gift from her oldest friend.

As she made her way into the breakfast salon, she was accosted by a booming voice reading sections of the gossip column aloud for the small assembly. Belle grimaced; Gaston really needed to learn to modulate his voice to suit the hour.

“‘ _And it was then relayed to this author that Lord R. and a mysterious lady of uncertain quality stole behind the Lock and Barrel public house, and when they emerged again, it was not without significant disarray to certain articles of their clothing!’_ Can you believe this? And do you know, I think I know this ‘Lord R’, and gads, does he have it coming from that shrew wife of his when she— Oh, Belle!” Gaston stood quickly, startling the footmen, and moving too fast for any assistance.

Belle gave him a droll look. “Good morning, but perhaps not quite morning enough to vocalize the house down?” Sitting at the table, she turned to Mrs. Lucas, owner of the estate in which Belle resided, and lifelong family friend, with a much warmer greeting. “Good morning, Mrs. Lucas, I see I’ve arrived just in time for the entertainments.”

Ruby leaned close. “Oh, absolutely, you’ve only just arrived in the nick of time!” She whispered. “If I have to hear one more silly piece of gossip this morning, “ she whispered to Belle, “I will truly take off into the woods.” Belle smiled, squeezing Ruby’s hand in solidarity.

Ruby and Belle had spent their childhoods living down the lane from one another, with Gaston just a stone’s throw past that. When tragedy had struck, Mrs. Lucas swept in, gathered Belle in her arms and carriage, and brought her to the Lucas Estate. And there had Belle resided since, trying to repair her shattered life.

Lost in her thoughts, Belle didn’t notice when Gaston started speaking to her.

“What?” Belle said, jolting out of her reverie.

“I said, what book have you got now? Let me see.” Gaston plucked the novel from Belle’s hands to look.

“Gaston, that’s rude, give it back! It was a gift!” Belle said angrily, trying in vain to rescue her treasure.

He pulled a face. “A gift? Who gives books as gifts? Belle, all this reading will make your eyes cross, and besides,” he said, opening the book and letting the pages ripple downward, “there aren’t even any pictures!”

Ruby got up and snatched the book out of his hand. “It was a gift from me, you overgrown child, and some people like to use their imagination instead of having things handed to them.” She sat back down, giving the book back to Belle. “I’d say throw it at him, but he’s not the book’s fault.”

Mrs. Lucas cleared her throat, giving them all a stern look. “If we can all decide to behave like adults, perhaps we can continue with our breakfast in peace?” She raised a cup of tea to her lips. “And Gaston, take something from one of my girls without asking again, and I’ll toss you into the road myself, is that clear?”

“… Yes ma’am.”

* * *

Having found herself a sun-warmed nook in the family parlor in which to spend the morning after breakfast, Belle was immersed in the Dashwood’s world when Gaston interrupted with a knock at the door.

“Belle? Oh, good, you’re not busy.”

She huffed. “Busy? No, of course not, I was merely enjoying my book in solitude with no wish to be disturbed, but by all means, Gaston, how can I help you?” She laid the book in her lap.

“Well,” he said, the point sailing neatly over him, “I was wondering if you would like to take a walk with me in the garden? I find myself in need of fresh air and thought perhaps you might enjoy the same.”

Belle stared at him. She would very much have preferred to stay where she was, but… well, it was a lovely day and the sooner she went, the sooner she could be back inside reading. She tucked her finger in the book to mark her place, and rose. “Alright, I’ll go with you.”

Once outside, Gaston took her hand holding the book, and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. Belle quickly grabbed her book with her other hand before she could lose her page as they started to walk.

The went along in silence for a short time, until Gaston abruptly stopped, causing Belle to stumble slightly.

“Belle,” he began; did she detect a slight tremor to his voice? “Belle, I … as you know, there comes a time in one’s life where … what I mean to say is …”

Belle froze next to him. _Oh my Lord. Oh my stars, he isn’t._

Gaston continued. “A man of a certain age naturally begins to have certain, ah, requirements. Things necessary to fulfill his destiny, so to speak.”

_Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no._ This was proposal talk. He was not going to propose in the same garden they had played in as children, picking flowers and finding all manner of ground creatures with which to harass each other … was he? Oh, please let the ground open up and swallow her now. Nothing could be worse than this.

“And while you and I have known each other in friendship for many a happy year, I’ve come to a certain realization about my future and it’s happiness that I feel most compelled to share with you now.”

Belle braced herself for the blow of his proposal, forming potential refusals in her mind.

“So, with that being said and all, would you do me the honor—”

_Oh, god, here it comes._

“—of helping me propose to Ruby?”

There was a brief moment of silence before Belle burst into full-throated, absolutely unladylike laughter.

She laughed for a long moment, with Gaston looking at her as if she’d lost her wits, and when she’d calmed down long enough to form a sentence again, spoke her mind.

“Oh, Lord, Gaston, I thought you were going to propose to me!”

Gaston took a step back, frowning in confusion. “Why would I propose to you?”

Belle experienced her own confusion, her laughter all but dying away. “Well, your speech! Or whatever that was. You said ‘future happiness’, and ‘there comes a time in one’s life’, and honestly, all I could think was how I was going to refuse you, but you’ve saved me the trouble!” She smiled at him, patting his arm good-naturedly. “Goodness, but of course, if you want to marry Ruby, I’ll help you!”

Oh, but perhaps that was the wrong thing to say. She saw Gaston’s face darken.

“Are you saying … had I proposed to you, you would dare to reject me?”

“Oh, Gaston, I didn’t—”

“When you have little else to recommend yourself but a pretty face and your stupid books?”

Belle grew very still. “I beg your pardon?”

He scoffed. “You have nothing, Belle. You’re a pauper dependent on the goodwill of friends because your father was a wastrel who took his own life rather than own up to his mistakes. Why would I shackle myself to you and consign my future children to life with a mother of dubious character? I’d be better served by a tavern girl; at least there would be clear expectations of the transaction.”

She sucked in a painful breath, recoiling from Gaston as if he had slapped her right there, in the middle of their garden. Her eyes began to prickle.

Belle took a deep breath. Drawing herself up, her head held high she turned away from Gaston, making her way slowly back to the house.

Ruby ran into her near the stairs. “Belle! What on earth happened out there? I saw you two go to the garden, and thought to join you, but then … what did he say to you? What’s wrong?” She took Belle by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. Belle raised wide, hurt eyes and looked at Ruby directly.   
“Nothing. Nothing that wasn’t true, at any rate. If you’ll excuse me, please…”

Ruby watched as Belle went up the stairs to her room. Once she heard the door click shut, she turned, hell itself ready to burst from her, and went to find Gaston.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so she's not super into Gaston as a life partner, and probably barely as a friend, but still, man. He was a total dick.
> 
> Please let me know what you all think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Jane Austen, she was the ish.

Ruby barreled full-tilt towards the garden, and Gaston. Vibrating with anger and loath to be dissuaded from it, she stopped just outside the garden’s entrance. She spotted him a short ways in, milling around a camellia bush without a care in the damn world.

“Gaston.”

He turned, and smiled when his eyes found her. “Ruby! I was just--”

“What did you do to her?”

Gaston’s smile grew quizzical. “To whom? Oh, do you mean Belle? Oh, that was nothing. It will soon blow over, I imagine.” He turned back to the bush, plucking one of the blossoms and attempting to hand it to her.

Ruby’s eyes narrowed; he was either lying or just a complete idiot. Probably the latter. While she wasn’t aware of the particulars of their … conversation, she was quite sure it wasn't a simple as all that. Not if Belle’s stricken face was any indication. She ignored the flower.

She glared at him. “What did you say to her, Gaston?”

He hesitated, his hand dropping. “Nothing, not really anyway. I asked her to walk with me in the garden and asked for her help with … something, and it’s not my fault she took it out of context and had to be reminded of her place. I suppose she’s upset, but she’ll calm down.”

Ruby pressed her lips together; it wouldn’t do to fall apart in anger until she had the whole story.  
  
“We were discussing a dilemma I needed her help with, and she mistakenly assumed I was asking for something else. I tried to correct her, but she just _laughed_ at me.” He shook his head. “She laughed! At _me_!”

Ruby shook her head, stuck on his previous statement. “Wait a minute, her place? What about her place?

“Ruby, a woman of her position shouldn't laugh at a man like me; it’s unseemly and not proper. Especially with the honor I bestowed on her.”

“A woman of her _position_?” Here it was, she could feel it, the heart of the brief argument. She had a feeling it was going to be unforgivable and dark.

Gaston gave a soft laugh and moved closer to her. “Oh, Ruby, you know better than I do what Belle’s position is. After all, she’s been residing with you and your grandmother for this half-year and has been depending on your good Christian charity. It’s honorable of you, really, and most endearing, too.” He twirled the blossom in his fingers, smiling at her.

Ruby’s eyes narrowed in fury. She took a small step closer to Gaston. “Let me piece this together: you asked for her help with something that she mistook for something else, and somehow you upbraided her for thinking herself your equal? Is that about it?”

He smiled and said, “Yes!”

Ruby smiled back, and swiftly brought up her knee and connected perfectly with his groin.

A strangled noise escaped his throat and he clutched himself, falling to the ground in agony. Ruby was breathing hard, her fury having been given an outlet, and she looked at him writhing desperately, the cold smile never leaving her face. _Good_.

She dropped to his level; he managed to stare at her, outrage and embarrassment clear on his face.

“I hope the pain clears your stupid brain long enough for this to sink in, Gaston. Belle is not, nor will she ever be, a _charity case_. She is my friend, and far, far too good for someone like you: an overgrown idiot child who sees nothing but his own opinion.”

She stood, dusting her hands one against the other. “Once you’ve recovered, you’re to see my grandmother, and make some excuse as to why you can’t stay the remainder of the day with us.” She turned to go, but stopped for one last rejoinder. “And if I hear one whit of gossip about Belle’s circumstances, you can bet your hide that the entire county will know you were felled by a woman in a rose garden. Goodbye, Gaston.”

She walked back towards the house, intending to find her friend and the rest of the story.

* * *

While Ruby was defending her in the garden, Belle had reached her room and slowly sank down onto her bed. She noticed the book still clutched in her hand, her finger still marking the place she had stopped earlier. It seemed so long ago she was in the parlor happily immersed in the story. She opened the book, picking up where she had left off.

_"It is certainly an unpleasant thing," replied Mr. Dashwood, "to have those kind of yearly drains on one's income. One's fortune, as your mother justly says, is NOT one's own. To be tied down to the regular payment of such a sum, on every rent day, is by no means desirable: it takes away one's independence."_

Belle shut the book, closing her eyes as a fresh wave of shame came over her. _Independence_. Something she didn’t have. Or possibly ever would have, unless she took action over her own fate. She sighed, feeling heavy and sad, and angry; angry at Gaston, at her papa, at herself for not seeing it sooner. Ruby and Mrs. Lucas were unselfish, kind and loving and had always treated her as if she were family that merely resided in a different house. But had she trespassed on them for too long? _Was_ she a burden?

A knock sounded at her door, and Belle shook herself out of her thoughts. “Come in!”

Ruby entered and sat next to Belle on the bed. “Are you alright?” she said, leaning towards her and touching her forehead to Belle’s affectionately. 

Belle shook her head. “No, Ruby, I’m not. But I don’t know how to fix it.”

Ruby sighed and looked around the room, debating internally whether to tell Belle what had transpired in the garden after she left. She won (lost?) the debate with herself and turned to Belle.

“I … confronted Gaston after you left the garden.”

Belle blanched. “Oh. Well. What … what did he say?”

Ruby scowled. “That he was a self-righteous ass with his head screwed on incorrectly. Or, at least, that’s what he _should_ have said. What he did say was so pompous and unforgivable. That stupid, stupid man.” She blew air out of her nose in exasperation.

Belle leaned into Ruby’s side. “Oh, Ruby, I do love you, you know.”

“I love you, too.” Ruby put an arm around her friend. “Too much to see you end up with a complete fool like him.”

Belle sat up in surprise. “He didn’t tell you?”

Ruby stared at her. “Tell me what?”

It was Belle’s turn for internal debate. She lost. “Well, that he wants to ask for _your_ hand…”

Ruby gawked for all of three seconds before bursting into peals of laughter, falling back on Belle’s bed and hugging her sides.

“Oh! Oh my lord! I … I can’t … he’s so … oh, you’ve GOT to be joking!”

Ruby’s incredulous delight was infectious, making Belle giggle. “No, it’s true. And I thought he was asking me at first, and I did the same thing: laughed right in his face!”

Ruby wiped the tears of mirth from her eyes as she started to sober at Belle’s admission. This she already knew, but there had to have been more. Nothing else could explain Belle’s face as she walked from the garden. She sat up and looked at Belle.

“But that wasn’t all of it, surely? You looked positively struck when I saw you!”

Belle’s smile fell and she bowed her head. “No, that wasn’t all of it. It made him angry, naturally, that I laughed at him, and he said..” She paused; shame swirled inside of her. “He said that because of what happened with Papa and my … circumstances, I was nothing more than a pauper dependent on charity and no better than a tavern girl.” She spoke quietly, shame burning her cheeks.

Ruby shot up from the bed and moved quickly towards the door. “Oh, like absolute _hell_ will he get away with that. He’s getting another one!” She wrenched the door open and took off down the hall like a shot.

Belle ran after her and caught her arm. “Ruby, don’t. Ruby, wait! What are you saying? He’ll get another one _what?_ ”

“A knee to the groin, that’s what!” Ruby stopped and gave Belle a smirk. “I kicked him where it counts. Or, rather, _kneed_ him. Either way, he deserved it.” 

Belle’s gasped. “Ruby, you shouldn’t have done that, it was very reckless of you. What if he tells your grandmother?” 

Ruby sighed and pulled Belle in for a hug. “It was the only part of him I could get a message to. And don’t worry, I also told him that if he spreads any gossip, the world will know of his unmanning.” She squeezed Belle briefly and released her to arms length. “He’s probably giving his excuses to Granny as we speak.”

Marveling at her friend, Belle couldn’t stop the words from coming out of her mouth. “Good god, Ruby, I wish I had half your bravery!”

Ruby stopped, turning to look Belle in the eyes. “You didn’t deserve his censure.” She said gravely. She took Belle’s hand. “Do the brave thing, and bravery will follow, Belle. Even if that means someone gets hurt.”

* * *

Belle was distracted the rest of the afternoon, her mind swirling around Ruby’s words.

_Do the brave thing, and bravery will follow._

Belle paced around the family parlor, distractedly tapping one hand against the other, her thoughts a maelstrom.

_I don't want to be a burden. I don't want to spend my days in idleness. I don't ... I don't want to wonder what it is I truly **do** want anymore. I want to find it. _

Her mind struck upon an idea. Ceasing hers pacing, she went to the bell-pull and rang for a footman. One arrived shortly.

"Yes miss?"

"Have the morning papers been disposed of yet?"

"No, miss, they're still in the kitchen."

"Would you bring them to me, please? Here in the parlor."

"Yes, miss."

She walked to the chaise and sat. Yes. This could be the start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter was Ruby-heavy, guys, but don't worry. She's not as sheltered as Belle was in this world and was never told that reading or thinking would ruin a woman. She's mah favorite right now and Belle will learn from her counsel, I promise. Also, I might have spin-off ideas, who knows ;)
> 
> Next time, Belle makes a ... selection of sorts and begins her next adventure. (This is only slightly going where you think. Trust me, I have special plans for our Belle :D)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this delay, everyone! I went back and forth about this fic for a bit, and decided that I needed to alter the tone somewhat to fit my overall vision. Let me know what you think. And if anyone is of a mind to be a beta reader, may I politely raise my hand to volunteer as author/tribute? I would love another set of eyes on this to see what I can't!

Belle brought up her idea to Ruby that afternoon; the former on the small sofa by the fireplace with her book, the latter reclining lazily in the rays of sunshine on the chaise, one leg dangling artlessly off the edge. To Belle’s chagrin, she was met with disbelief.

“A governess? You can’t be serious.” Ruby pushed herself up, her expression perplexed. “You belong with us, not traipsing around the country looking for work. You’re a lady, for god’s sake.”

Belle smoothed her skirts, trying to calm when her pounding heart. “I’m not going to _traipse_ , as you put it, and I’m not really a lady, not anymore. Why shouldn't I find something for myself?"  
  
“Because I forbid it.”

Belle gawked, incredulous. “You’re not in a position to forbid me anything, Ruby. I didn’t ask for permission and you’re not my guardian.”

“Well, alright, but Granny practically is! And she will be just as against this as I am when she finds out.” Ruby scowled, slumping back against the sofa. “This is ridiculous!”

Bell was beginning to seethe, the uncharacteristic condescension getting to her. She took a deep breath. “I told you, I'm going to look for a position, apply, and see what happens. I can't just sit here anymore, doing nothing and just waiting for life to happen to me. That's fine for some, but not me!” She paused, trying to marshal her anger. “Please, try to see my side of this. Wouldn't you want the same?”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “I’m different, Belle. I have the backing of my inheritance and you don’t—" She stopped, clapping a hand over her mouth and raising wide eyes to Belle’s face.

Belle smiled wryly. "Exactly. I don't have what you do. So what am I to do? Find someone to marry who will have a penniless gentlewoman, only to lord their charity over me for the rest of my life? No, I won't resign myself to that. Nobody chooses my fate but me and I will be hanged if I let anyone try.”

“Belle, please, as someone who would most definitely lose sleep over your safety, I can’t let you go out into the world all alone. Not to be a governess of all things!” Belle didn’t respond, merely kept her eyes on her the book in her lap.

Ruby sighed, going for a different tactic. “Alright, then. You’ve read the novels, don’t you know what always happens to the governess?” 

Belle's expression turned mutinous, but it had no effect on Ruby’s tirade. “She’s thrown out on her behind after getting caught with the eldest son or husband or whomever! You’ll be fallen, Belle!”

Belle shot up, her book falling to the floor unnoticed. “Enough, Ruby! Good lord; first Gaston and now you! I can't believe this.” 

She turned and placed her hands on the fireplace, trying to calm herself. “Does no one think I'm capable of anything other than being an oddity for their amusement? Or am I just some poor little bluestocking country mouse they must coddle and care for, and never let use the brain I was given? Why is this so bloody hard?!” She shoved away from the mantle, storming out of the parlor and back to the sanctuary of her bedroom.

Once there, she struggled to keep in good spirits, her fight with Ruby having drained her.

_No, I can’t give up that easily. I will do this and everyone else be damned!_

* * *

Belle resolved to take the first advert she found and apply for the job, consequences be hanged. She’d figure it out one way or the other.

Sitting at the desk in her room, she scanned the papers she had gotten from the footman until her eyes found the first advert on the page.

_Needed: One governess to reside and teach a single pupil in Derbyshire for a local gentleman of means. Interested parties please send characters and information to this address._

She did take her time crafting the letter; after all, she had no characters, so some exaggeration as to her skills was necessary. She sealed the letter with a grim satisfaction and took the short walk to town.

It wasn’t as simple as she had hoped, however. Posting the reply was easy; she merely went to town and slipped her reply in the mailbox, perfectly normal. But hearing the snide, hushed comments and seeing the pitying, mocking glances directed her way was as difficult to swallow as it was unexpected. Belle was confused as to why she was the center of talk until the realization hit her full in the face. 

They were making fun of her because of her family. Her father's disgrace had become hers upon his death and she never had the chance to see it. She hadn’t been to town since she moved to the Lucas estate, the servants normally fetching whatever the household required.

Moving as quickly as she could and ducking around the post office to a solitary corner of an alley, she pressed her back against the building, trying to take deep breaths to ward off the shame threatening to make her ill.

She'd been sheltered her whole life, as all young girls were; her most troublesome memories were of Gaston teasing her by putting insects in her hair as a child. Until her parents died. But even then, she'd been whisked away to the Lucas estate and allowed to reside in relative peace and obscurity. She knew this. But knowing and realizing were two different things.

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she dashed them away. _Stupid, weak fool!_ She blotted her face with her gloved hands, and exited the alley with her dignity cloaking her in its tattered folds. The sooner she was gone from this place, and starting a new life, the better.

* * *

_A few days later…_

Alasdair Gold held the response to the posting in his hand, a candle nearby helping to illuminate the delicate, feminine script.

He was intrigued. She was obviously playing false about her accomplishments, but to what extent? The way she wrote bespoke a definite intelligence, and her pretty, dainty penmanship proved her diligence. He smiled darkly, stroking his chin with his fingers. Perhaps he would write and invite her to Hawkshire. See what else she might be keeping hidden in that mind she had. He had a strong feeling there was much more to Belle French than could be conveyed in one letter, delightful though it may be. Heaven (or Hell) knew there was more to him than met at the surface. He pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment, dipped his quill, and began to compose the reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief mention of Rumple! More in the next chapter! All the exclamation points! I'm a very excited person!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, you beautiful, patient people! Here's an update for you, and things are getting good FINALLY :D

_Derbyshire, September, 1810_

 

Belle took in the grand facade of the house before her as the carriage pulled into the stone drive. She saw a tall man waiting outside the front door, dressed impeccably sharp in the daily blacks of a butler. Belle felt a frisson of nerves, but he was smiling congenially enough, a hand held high to indicate the carriage’s stopping point.

The carriage driver stopped none to gently, and Belle was jolted in her seat. Grabbing the windowpane to steady herself, she cursed inwardly. It wouldn’t do for the butler to see her frazzled; she didn’t know how much influence he had over the Earl. She briefly closed her eyes and took a deep breath before the door was opened for her.

“Miss French, I presume?” Lumiere said, smiling at her warmly. 

Belle nodded, trying to find her voice among the nerves that were steadily climbing her spine. “Y-yes.” _Pull yourself together, Belle._ “Yes,” she repeated more forcefully.

The butler offered his hand to help her out of the carriage. Her gaze wandered upwards as she descended, her head moving back to get a better look the magnificent stone dwelling before her. _Goodness._

Hawkshire House was built in a stone of light tan, with three stories of windows facing the front drive, nine on each floor from what Belle could see. She didn’t doubt there were plenty more wrapped around the building and delighted internally at the potential for so much natural light.

A heavy oak front door set into a wide stone frame sported a smirking iron gargoyle with a knocker held in it’s teeth. This tickled Belle, and she wondered if the gargoyle matched the master. A small laugh bubbled out of her and she turned her head to hide it with a cough.

The butler look at her with sympathy. “Travel dust, no doubt, Miss. It will soon clear away.”

One side of Belle’s mouth quirked upwards. “Of course, Mr…?”

He blanched. “Oh! Goodness, where are my manners? My name is Giles Lumiere, but you may call me simply ‘Lumiere’, should you wish. I am his Lordships butler and head of the servants, and I am at your service.” He bowed to her shortly.

‘’Lumiere’? What a wonderful name. Is your family of French origin? I’ve never met anyone from the Continent before. Though I do believe I have a distant relative or two near Avignon.” 

Lumiere smiled at her and she stopped her chatter, her cheeks coloring slightly.

“Look at me, carrying on like a magpie. I’m sure we have places to go and people to see, do we not, Sir?”

“Ah, yes. Yes, we do. Shall we go in, Miss French?”

“Lead the way, Monsieur Lumiere.”

He preceded her into the house, turning frequently to give small tidbits of history surrounding the house and countryside, to Belle’s great delight. As they reached the foyer, Lumiere concluded relaying his last tidbit and turned around only to see his master unexpectedly waiting in the center of the room, just beyond the edge of daylight that spilled from the open doorway.

“And here we are, Miss French. Such a lovely—Oh! My Lord!”

Lumiere skittered to a halt, too soon for Belle to be sure of her footing behind him, and she stepped on the edge of her dress, falling forward towards the marble floor.

Before she could hit the ground, an iron cage caught her around the waist and hauled her upright, her body meeting something very solid. As she regained a bit of her faculties, she realized she was being held by the man who had caused the tumble. Belle found herself looking up into the strangest eyes she had ever seen. Amber colored, seeming to glow from within, clear and hard, the pupils dilated. 

_A predator’s eyes_. 

She swallowed convulsively, leftover adrenaline from nearly falling causing her heart to beat a fierce staccato in her chest. She saw those eyes flick down to her throat, lingering before coming back up again. Belle felt a thrill of some volatile emotion settle low in her belly.

“Oh, hello.” She breathed, blinking wide eyes at the man who had caught her fall, and felt his grip on her relax ever so slightly. Not iron after all, just two very strong arms.

“Hello.” He replied, his Scottish brogue a quiet growl. The sound reverberated through her, coming to rest at the base of her spine. Belle’s eyes flicked to his mouth; thin, but inviting, and she unconsciously licked her lips.

And suddenly, she was released to stand on her own, Lumiere’s gentle touch steadying her, and so unlike the firm grip she had just experienced.

She looked past him to the man standing back in the center of the room, staring at her and looking as if he had never moved. _How…?_ She frowned at him, trying to puzzle him out while Lumiere was making some kind of apology.

“My Lord, I apologize! I had thought to bring Miss French up to your private study, but I can see—“

The man held up his hand. 

“Enough. ’Tis well.” He looked at Belle. “Miss French, was it?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Very well. Follow me, if you please.” He turned and walked toward the wide staircase at the back of the hall. Belle flicked her eyes to Lumiere before she followed, trying to absorb the encouraging smile he gave her.

As she trailed the Earl, she gazed in awe at what she could see of the foyer; the ancestral portraits on the walls, the wood paneling, the marble floor. The mahogany stairs were covered in a thick, dark blue carpet, soft and yielding underfoot. A golden chandelier hung from the ceiling, and Belle imagined it lit with a thousand candles.

After looking her fill, she turned to view the man preceding her up the wide stairs. His clothing was cut well, fitting neatly to him and in the latest fashion, though the colors were unusual. Belle was used to the men around her wearing customary country attire: a fashionable tan trouser with matching vest, black tailcoat and a white shirt, usually sporting an intricately-tied cravat, and knee-high black boots.

This man wore black head to foot, save for his shirt— which was a crisp white, and his vest— a deep garnet red. He had foregone a cravat, and a glimpse of his neck was visible at the small v-shaped opening where the two ends of his collar met. And while the men of Belle’s acquaintance wore their hair short, this man had hair that just brushed his shoulders, in shades of light brown with silver threaded through. Combine that with a rather pronounced nose, a thin, masculine mouth and those eyes, and the Earl of Hawkshire House was a striking man, indeed.

They climbed several stairs, and Belle felt her legs begin to protest slightly, unaccustomed to the exercise. She fell behind the man, who was moving just a touch past what Belle thought was a polite speed for her to keep up with.

As if he read her mind, he suddenly stopped on the stairs. She paused, wondering what made him halt his progress so abruptly, but kept climbing until she reached the step below him.

“My Lord?”

He turned his head slightly but didn’t fully look back at her.

“When you’re ready.” He turned back.

Belle tried to keep her huff quiet, but was heard regardless. This time, he turned to regard her over one shoulder, his gaze raking her from head to foot before returning to her face.

“Or, I could carry you.”

Belle blushed at the suggestion. _Oh, stop it, you ninny._

“Carry me, my Lord? Thank you, but no. I can manage.” She thrust her chin up and began to walk again.

_Be polite, Belle!_ “You have a lovely home, my Lord.”

“Thank you.”

“Has it been in your family’s possession for long?”

“Yes.”

Belle was puzzled by the short, uninviting answers, but at least he had matched her pace on the stairs and she was no longer having to catch up to him.

“Will I have the pleasure of meeting my potential charge, my Lord?”  
  
He glanced at her, but otherwise didn't respond. Belle’s temper got the better of her at that. 

“You know, my Lord, normal conversation consists of a give and take of sorts, but perhaps you don’t wish to converse? If so, I’ll hold my tongue. Or perhaps it’s that we weren’t properly introduced on the landing? Or that I didn’t thank you for catching my fall? Did my accidental lack of gratitude give offense? If so, I’m terribly—”

He stopped abruptly again, turning to regard her.

She grumbled under her breath. “Really, _what_ is it with the people of this house just—“

“Do you always ask so many questions, Miss French?”

She looked at him. He stared back, an eyebrow raised sardonically. 

“Not always, my Lord. Just when there’s silence where there shouldn’t be.”

He shook his head and resumed the stairs. 

To Belle’s great annoyance, he stayed silent the rest of the way.

* * *

He opened the door for her upon reaching his private study, and motioned for her to step inside. She hesitated slightly.

“Go on in, dearie. I’m not going to bite.”

Belle schooled her features into a polite mask, refusing to give away the odd little thrill that chased down her spine at his words. _Get a hold of yourself!_

“I never entertained the thought, my Lord. ‘Twould be most uncivil to eat one’s guests.” 

He snorted lightly as she moved past him. 

Belle settled into the leather armchair opposite the large desk set a ways back in the room, her hands folded primly in her lap. The Earl came to sit at the desk, taking a key from his pocket and opening a drawer.

Belle stole a few glances around the room while he searched the desk. Another very masculine room, but to be expected, of course. The same wood paneling as the foyer, with a darker stain, a fireplace across the room, a globe in the corner and a small bar near the door with several crystal bottles of what appeared to be red wine.

Belles eyes settled on the large bookshelves meeting at the corner of the wall right behind the desk. Books were packed on each shelf, and she imagined they groaned under the weight. She sighed in quiet longing, wanting nothing more in that instant than to run her hands along the spines before plucking a book out and stealing away to some warm corner of the house for the afternoon. She noticed curtains drawn over each window and frowned. 

_Why anyone would want to shut out the light in the middle of the afternoon?_

Having found what he was looking for, Alasdair raised his eyes to Belle, intending to begin conversing about the job before her. Instead, he found her gazing around at his study, her thoughts clearly written on her face. And what a lovely face it was, too.

Large blue eyes framed in long, dark lashes, a slim nose with the tip turned up just slightly, small, but full lips, naturally rose colored. Her dark curls were piled into a simple style that flattered her heart-shaped face. A long, white neck, whose pulse point he could see faintly beating below the skin, the high collar of her light blue traveling coat not quite concealing the gentle twitch.

_Delicious._

Alasdair cleared his throat, tucking the thought away. He met Belle’s gaze, and she returned it steadily.

They regarded each other silently for a moment before Alasdair spoke, his accent rich and warm, her letter in his hand.

“Miss French, first let me thank you for making the journey to Derbyshire. I know the trip is a long one, and your patience is much appreciated.”

“Not at all, my Lord. I’ve seldom traveled, so a chance to see the countryside was one I couldn’t possibly pass up.” She smiled.

“Yes, well, I must admit, I was…surprised to receive your letter,” He gestured with the paper in his hand,  “and even more so upon seeing you.”

She frowned. “And why is that my Lord?”

“A pretty young thing, in the prime of her life, obviously well-bred. Not what one usually expects when hiring a governess.”

“Forgive me, my Lord, but how does my appearance factor in my ability to perform a job?”

“It doesn’t.”

“Then I fail to see the cause for surprise.”

“Women of your status normally…” He trailed off, refusing to put voice to the thought rapidly forcing itself to the front of his brain.

_You should be someone’s wife, little one, not the servant of an evil, twisted thing like me. Run, while I can still let you!_

“Normally what, my Lord? Make successful marriages and produce heirs for their husbands? Tend the manors and never step a foot out of the carefully-prescribed place society sets for them? No, thank you. I’d prefer to choose my own fate, if you don’t mind.”

Alasdair gazed at her, slightly taken aback, but recovering quickly. This tiny thing had fight in her.

_How delightful._

He leaned back in his chair, adopting a casual posture, the fingers of one hand slowly stroking his chin, but his gaze on her sharpened, his eyes taking on a bit of the unnatural glow Belle had seen in the foyer.

“And what if you don’t like the fate you’ve chosen, my dear?” His voice grew deeper, the brogue fogging thick around the words as he aimed a predatory gaze and sinister smile at her. He watched her take a slow breath.

“Then I’ll find another. Or are you saying once I’ve chosen, I’m stuck?”

Alasdair could hear her heartbeat galloping, but she gave no outward sign of agitation, aside from a slight flush to her cheeks that made his mouth water, wondering where else on her body she might flush like that. He decided to give her one last chance to back out, to run home to safety and comfort and light, to scare her into turning tail and leaving.

He stood, coming around the desk and placing his hands on the armrests of her chair, leaning slowly into her personal space. Alasdair kept his gaze locked on hers.

“Nothing of the kind. I’d merely urge you to be careful what you seek, for you may find it.”

She met his gaze without flinching, though her eyes grew wide. He’d trapped her with his nearness, the hypnotic timbre of his voice rooting her to the spot.

“There are dark things in the world, Miss French, but if you’re not cautious when looking, they may find you first.”

Alasdair pulled back, seeing the slight shock on her face as she came back to herself, and felt a confusing mix of relief and regret mingle within his gut.

He walked to the small bar, and poured himself a measure of the dark red liquid into a crystal tumbler.

“As you said, Miss French. Make a successful marriage, tend a manor, and forget this silly notion of being a governess.” All trace of the sinuous darkness had gone from his voice. He tossed back the liquid, and poured himself a few fingers more.

“No.”

Alasdair stopped, the tumbler halfway to his lips. “No?”

“No.” She got up to face him, moving to the bar. 

“I came here to do a job, and do it I shall. I have a brain and would like to use it to teach the young master or miss of this house. I know the classics, world history, I’ve even read up on politics when I could steal a newspaper away from the kitchen. In short, my Lord, I love to learn and I want to instill that love in another person, such as the pupil residing here.” 

Alasdair tossed back the remainder of the second drink, regarding her with a dangerous scowl. She looked back at him calmly, having vented her mind.

He set the glass down very carefully, and began to walk towards her, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Miss French.” 

His voice took on that same low, hypnotic growl as he advanced on her.

“You’ve been in my home for all of two hours, and you’ve shown yourself to be the most impertinent woman I’ve come across in this lifetime.” Belle took a small step back as he came closer.

Alasdair’s eyes gleamed at the small triumph of her moving and he gave her a wickedly dark smile, bringing his hands from behind his back to tick off her many crimes in the span of two hours on his fingers.

“You’ve denied me, contradicted me, questioned me; I’m not a man used to these things in my home, Miss French.” 

Belle kept moving backwards until her back hit the wall. 

“Whatever shall we do about this?”

She felt a stirring of panic go hand in hand with a tightness in her belly and wondered at the feeling.

Alasdair braced his hands against the wall on either side of Belle, trapping her within the cage of his body. She was forced to breathe him in, the faint scent of cloves and an underlying metallic tang that, while not unpleasant, was unusual. Her mind was too clouded to chase after it, she was too aware of the man in front of her to think properly. Part of her screamed to slap him and be done with this, but a much larger part, a darker part, coaxed her to enjoy the moment, and give in to whatever depraved thing he might wish.

He leaned closer to her, his nose just brushing the shell of her ear. She could hear him breathe her in much like she’d done with him.

Alasdair took in her scent with a deep lungful of air. Warm female skin, roses, her excitement warring with her fear. He pulled back slightly, careful not to let her see how his inner beast was raging to tear into her, to ravage her soft flesh and devour her. Her quick little breaths puffing against his cheek, her heartbeat a fierce drum in her chest. A heady mixture for someone like him.

“M-my Lord?” Belle’s voice was practically a whimper, the sound traveling straight to Alasdair’s groin.

His fingers scraped against the wall, leaving small marks in the wood. 

“Yes, little one, what do you need. Tell me.”

“Your name.”

“My name?”

“Yes, please. You didn’t sign your letter with your full name, and I-I have no idea what I should call you.”

“I should think ‘My Lord’ would suffice.”

Belle gave a breathy laugh, and it was all Alasdair could do not to lift her skirts then and there, sink himself inside her in all the ways he could, and to hell with the consequences for them both.

“Too formal.”

It was his turn to laugh. “Alasdair. My name is Alasdair Gold, Earl of Hawkshire House.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” She said on a breathy whisper.

It was this that made Alasdair’s frayed hold over himself snap. He growled, inhaling her once more and moved his mouth to her neck, opening wide to make room for the sharp canines extending themselves, ready to pierce her and drink her down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Evil smile*
> 
> (please let me know what you think!)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the length between updates, everyone. I've had a wicked case of writer's block that's derailed my fics. Trying to barrel through, though. I hope I haven't lost you! I know where I want this to go, but damned if I'm not having a hell of a time finding the path. What does everyone else do when faced with a block? I'd love to hear your suggestions.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter! :)

**Chapter 6**

 

_It would be so easy, so quick and easy._

_Just a bite, a taste of her to satisfy, to quench—_

Alasdair’s growl reverberated pleasurably through Belle, and she gasped. Her body seemed to beg her, beseech her to give in, to submit, promising endless delights if she just let him—

A loud knock sounded at the door, breaking into the clouded, dark world of the study and the confusing tendrils of want that had wrapped themselves around Belle.

Belle was startled back into reality. Her eyes shot up to meet Alasdair’s, and she recoiled at seeing the naked hunger in them. He released a small breath and her eyes were drawn down to his mouth, slightly open to make room for an abnormally elongated set of canines ending in needle-like points against his lower lip.

Instinctive fear made her press against the wall behind her in desperation, the edges of her vision blackening as her breath caught in her throat. 

And for the first time in her twenty-one years, Belle French fainted.

~

Alasdair saw her eyes go wide with fear when they landed on his fangs, and he heard her breath catch as she tried futilely to escape backwards. He had frightened her, trapped her and her mind was escaping the only way it instinctively knew.

He caught her as she fainted, scooping her up before she could hit the floor. He cradled her for a brief moment, gazing at her pale face before moving towards the fireplace, laying her down gently on the small couch in front of the hearth. A feeling suspiciously similar to worry chased through him and he undid the first few buttons of her traveling coat to help her breathe better. His gut twisted at the realization and he recoiled from her slightly.

Lumiere entered to see his master bent over the prone form of Miss French, his hands near her throat. Her skin was pale. The tea tray he’d been carrying slipped from his grasp, crashing to the floor and sending the contents scattering about the room. 

Alasdair stood abruptly at the crash, startled and frowning in disapproval.

“Lumiere, what the hell—”

“Is she dead? Did you kill her?”

Alasdair spoke through his teeth. “No, Lumiere. She fainted. That’s all.”

Lumiere made a sound of disbelief, moving to Belle’s side. He turned her head gently, feeling her heartbeat at the juncture of her neck and checking for distinct puncture wounds. Finding none, he breathed an audible sigh of relief and sent a prayer of thanks heavenwards.

“Her heartbeat is steady, thank God.” Lumiere turned back to Alasdair, his eyebrows crashing down in a scowl. “What on _earth_ happened here, my Lord?”

Alasdair drew up at the insubordinate tone. “I’ll thank you to remember to whom you speak, Lumiere.” He said, raising his chin with all the haughtiness of his position.

Lumiere stood, moving in front of Belle protectively. He softened his voice. “Tell me what happened, please.”

The two men locked eyes for a moment; one set pleading, the other angry before Alasdair relented and gave the barest of nods to Lumiere.

“Fine. First Miss French needs to be seen to, then…we’ll speak.”

Lumiere stood and rang for a maid, asking for Mrs. Potts to be sent to the study. He moved back to Belle’s side to wait, standing over her like a sentinel.

Alasdair moved to his desk chair, slumping down in it and staring at the young woman on his couch. The darkness in him simmered, warring with the long-forgotten feeling of concern that nipped at the edges of his thoughts and baffling him. How long had it been since he had felt _worry_ for a mortal? He stayed away from humans purely out of royal threat, not because he was kind in any way. His species wasn’t generally given to kindness and yet this tiny, baffling creature made him feel things he hadn’t felt in nearly three-hundred years.

The foolish girl. Feeding from her now would be a painful lesson in obedience for her, and a ridiculous delight for him, but he knew better, knew the consequences that awaited him with an unwilling participant. Bad enough when they _were_ willing. Alasdair shook himself mentally. He could slake his need in another, some poor soul who wouldn’t be missed, and deal with whatever George levied on him if he found out. He’d get to keep his life, of that he was certain. 

_And Miss French would remain unharmed._

He was jolted out of his confused reverie by the arrival of Mrs. Potts.

A short, rounded woman past middle age, she wore a mobcap over grey-blonde hair and the sturdy uniform of her position. She entered the study but stopped short, giving a small gasp at seeing the unconscious young lady on the sofa and shot a look that could boil water towards the two men. 

She moved to Belle, perching beside her on the couch and examining her much the same way as Lumiere. Finding the young woman seemingly unharmed, she stood and spoke, scowl still in place.

“I suppose one of you can tell me what the devil is going on here? My Lord?” Mrs. Potts crossed her arms, looking every inch the commanding officer and glared directly at Alasdair.

“She’s to be the new governess for Miss Emma. Her name is Belle French, of Staffordshire.” Lumiere said a touch nervously. Despite her status as housekeeper, Mrs. Potts often went toe-to-toe with his Lordship, seeming to be the only one in the manor not truly afraid of him for better or worse.

“She’s fine, Mrs. Potts. Merely fainted. Please, would you remove her with Lumiere to somewhere more comfortable? I don’t want her waking up frightened.” Alasdair glowered at her, giving a futile attempt at intimidation.

Mrs. Potts narrowed her eyes at the strange addendum to his request. An odd thing indeed, given his Lordship’s…nature. “I will, my Lord. But when she’s settled, I want an explanation, because I’m a fair sight certain there’s _much_ we need to discuss. Lumiere, if you please.” She gestured for him to gather Belle and preceded him out the door.

~

Belle came to feeling a cool cloth pressing against her face and neck, and turned towards the sensation.

“There we are, dear. Coming back to us now, hmm? Good thing, too, I was about to fetch the smelling salts.”

Her eyes fluttered open to see an older woman seated next to her, a kind smile on her face. Belle attempted to sit up, but the woman stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Oh, no, not yet, dear. You’ve had quite a faint, mustn’t rile yourself up again. You stay comfortable and I’ll fetch what you need, alright?” She brought the cool cloth back to Belle’s forehead, pressing lightly.

“Who are you?” Belle didn’t mean to be rude, but waking up in a strange bed could make any person more blunt than usual.

The woman chuckled. “I’m Mrs. Potts, housekeeper here at Hawkshire House. And you must be Miss French.”

Belle nodded, trying to form more words, but her mouth felt like sawdust. She swallowed thickly. “May I have some water, please?” She croaked out.

Mrs. Potts produced a glass and Belle drank greedily. Once she had her fill, she found it easier to sit up, and take in the room around her.

Light blue walls with unembellished oak wainscoting. A tiny hearth opposite the narrow but well-sprung bed, a mirrored vanity and an armoire along one wall opposite the door. A simple rug in front of the hearth, small paintings on the wall, flowers in a vase on the mantle. And best of all, sunshine coming through the open windows, pooling on the floor and filling the room with a very cozy warmth. A breeze fluttered the white curtains and she could hear birds chirping merrily outside. A very normal spot, indeed. Belle felt charmed, and oddly safe.

“What a lovely room. Is it yours, Mrs. Potts?”

“No, dear. The housekeeper’s rooms are downstairs in a house such as this.” She looked around, a small smile on her face. “This is a room fit for a governess, which, I suppose, would make it yours. That is, if you stay to take the position.” She looked at Belle.

Belle was at a loss for words, for once. Her mouth opened and closed a few times as she tried to marshal her muddy thoughts.

“Forgive me, Mrs. Potts. I’m a bit… foggy at the moment. I remember meeting with his Lordship, and then…” She felt her cheeks heat in embarrassment and she cringed. “Did I faint?”

Mrs. Potts patted her hand. “Yes, dear, you did, but no need to feel ashamed. Mr. Lumiere brought you up here and I’ve been sitting with you since.” She got up and placed the washcloth in a bowl on the vanity. “Now, how are you feeling?”

Belle gauged her body and felt no physical discomfort, which was a relief. Her traveling coat had been removed, but she was still fully dressed.  
  
“I _feel_ fine, I suppose. Only…”

“Only what, dear?”

Belle shook her head. Images were forming in her mind of glowing eyes and sharp teeth and she wondered if she’d gone mad. “I just…when I fainted, I thought I saw…oh, this is so silly.”

Mrs. Potts sat back on the bed, concern etched on her face. “What did you see, Belle?”

Belle looked at her helplessly. “Mrs. Potts…You’ll think I’m mad.”

“I promise you, I won’t.” Mrs. Potts gave her an indulgent smile. “I’ve seen many a thing in my time, dear,  it’s hard to shock me.”

Belle huffed, her eyes roaming around the room without landing on anything in particular. “I think I read too much, it’s putting odd things in my head.” She focused on Mrs. Potts again. “I could have sworn his Lordship had…well, fangs!” She tossed her hands, letting them fall in her lap. “Is that not ridiculous?”

Mrs. Potts grew very still next to her, and Belle took it to mean she agreed with the diagnosis of madness. She put her head in her hands with a mortified groan.

“See? I told you. Mad. Human beings don’t have fangs. Not outside of stories.” She growled in irritation. “I missed breakfast this morning, and probably fainted from lack of nourishment. Fangs, indeed.” Belle sighed and dropped her hands, chancing a look at Mrs. Potts. “I shouldn’t think fainting was the best impression one could make on one’s potential employer. I should imagine he’d like to see the back of me quite quickly.” She shook her head.

Mrs. Potts felt a stab of dread when Belle mentioned what she had seen. 

 _So that’s what happened. How could he be so careless, and in front of a mortal, no less!_  

She took a deep breath, preparing to do damage control to keep this young woman from bolting. Truth was, they were in need of a governess for Miss Emma. No one of their world was willing to take the job on account of his Lordship, and his majesty had forbidden human associations beyond what was necessary in their county for the same reason. 

But here was a governess currently sitting in front of Mrs. Potts _and_ outside of the county jurisdiction. A grey area to be sure, but whoever said life was all black and white?

She came back to herself, and took a deep breath, pasting a smile on her face. “Well! It sounds like you’ll be needing something to get your strength back up, then! Now, don’t worry, nobody thinks you’re mad. I think you’re just famished, and it’s muddling your thoughts. You stay here, and I’ll bring you up a tray quick as you like.”

~

While Belle and Mrs. Potts were upstairs conversing, Lumiere was doing his damnedest not to throttle his employer from where he was sitting.

“You let her see your _fangs_? My Lord, what in all that’s holy compelled you to do that?” Lumiere said, trying like hell to be respectful despite his exasperation.

Alasdair glared at his butler. “I didn't choose it, Lumiere. She was needling me, refusing to leave when I gave her multiple opportunities. How is it my concern that she’s too stubborn and foolish to see danger when it’s right in front of her?”

Lumiere caught something in Alasdair’s words and repeated them to be sure. “‘Right in front of her’?”

Alasdair had had enough of the disrespect from his damned butler. He leaned over the desk and growled menacingly.

“I was close enough t’ hear her blood rushin’ in her veins.” He held Lumiere’s stare unblinkingly, frustrated anger deepening his brogue. “Is tha’ what ye want t’hear? Tha’ I was a breath away frae devourin’ her an’ then tossin’ her corpse out th’ fuckin’ windae?”

“Then why didn’t you, my Lord, if that’s what you so badly wanted?”

“Because it’s no’ that simple an’ ye bloody well ken it!” Alasdair shouted. He gestured in frustrated amazement. “Th’ lass is brave, Lumiere, God alone knows why. I had her against the damn wall an’ she still dueled with me.”

“But she fainted.”

“She was spooked. She saw my fangs and her mind did what it could tae try and save her. Doesnae change th’ fact that she dueled with a monster, knowingly or not.”

Lumiere sighed. “Then what shall we do about her?”

Alasdair thought for a moment, letting his temper settle and his normal speech return. “I’ll speak with Mrs. Potts.” He raised a hand at the butler’s sound of protest. “No, Lumiere. I trust her to handle Miss French for the time being. I will speak with Mrs. Potts and then Miss French later.”  
  
“But, my Lord, surely not!” Lumiere exclaimed. “Perhaps you could _influence_ Miss French to forget and send her on her way? We can find someone else for Miss Emma. Surely it’s too dangerous to keep her here after what happened.”

“Are you saying you don’t trust me to handle myself?”

“No, my Lord, but—“

 “Then you’d rather I attempt to destroy a part of her mind? You know how dangerous the influence is, how variable it can be. It might turn her into a raving madwoman. It might not work at all. And you also know the rules, for they govern you as well. No, I will speak with Mrs. Potts as I said and we shall find a way.”

Lumiere was right to be concerned, but Alasdair was not dissuaded. Since the moment he saw her, Alasdair knew something was different. Maybe it was the way she spoke to him, no trace of fear, or deference, despite his lofty position. Maybe that she asked him for his damned name while his mouth was practically at her throat. She was brave. Foolish, yes, but brave. 

His next step depended entirely on what she remembered when she awoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, but I needed to get this down for everyone. The next one will go one of two ways, depending on whether or not I'm struck with a particular inspiration. As always, I love comments/feedback/suggestions! <3
> 
> *One note: In this AU, my Mrs. Potts is somewhat like Mrs. Patmore of Downton Abbey. It's all Of_Princes_And_Savages fault, she planted the seed in my head, but it was the best seed ever ;D


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know if this makes sense anymore, my brain does what it wants. I hope you enjoy!

Mrs. Potts was gathering refreshments on a tray for Belle when Alasdair came into the kitchens. She paused in her movements, meeting his burning gaze with a calm stare.

“How can I help you, my Lord?”

“What did she tell you?”

Mrs. Potts sighed. He’d wasted no time on inane chatter, thank goodness, but still. “She thinks we all think her mad.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Mrs. Potts scowled at him as she took up gathering refreshments again. “Perhaps it’s because she could _swear_ she saw _fangs_ right before she fainted, my Lord. I wonder how that could have happened?” The question dripped with rhetorical sarcasm. Alasdair kept silent in the face of her censure and Mrs. Potts continued her tirade, placing items on the tray with more force than necessary.

“Luckily she talked herself out of that one, saying it was the effect of ‘one too many stories’ and what a _terrible_ impression fainting must have given _you_.” She paused, bracing both hands on the table and regarding him angrily. “What I want to know is how on earth you could have been so careless, and what you plan to do to make sure it doesn’t happen again?”

“Lumiere thinks I should remove the memory.”

Mrs. Potts stopped dead, her mouth falling open. “You’re jesting, my Lord. He knows better.”

He remained silent just a beat too long and her face grew red in outrage.

“Of all the stupid things…when I get my hands on him, I will wring his bloody neck!” She wiped her hands on the apron around her waist and made to storm out of the kitchen in search of Lumiere. 

“I already said no to him, Mrs. Potts.” His words stopped her, and she deflated somewhat, giving an exasperated breath.

“Well. Good. But I’ll be having words with him as it is, my Lord. To make such a ridiculous suggestion. He knows the rules!” She sliced a hand through the air angrily, wishing the factotum was before her to be the recipient of her wrath.

“You’re welcome to upbraid him to your heart’s content later, but for now, I need to speak with Miss French and I need you with me.”

Mrs Potts raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure that’s wise, sir? Wouldn’t it be better to send for Sir Archibald instead?”

“Sir Archibald would try and…interfere with my plans, and I don’t want that. I would imagine she trusts you, and would feel more comfortable if you were with her when we spoke.”

“What is it you want to say to her?”  
  
Alasdair paused, considering his words carefully. If he misspoke, he’d lose Mrs. Potts on this entirely. He needed an ally, damn it, and he didn’t want to wait for Archie to show.

“I’d still like to offer her the position, if she’ll have it.”

Mrs. Potts snorted. “And she thinks she’s the mad one.”

“I’m quite serious, Mrs. Potts.”

“She’s going to take one look at you and jump out the window into the hedgerows.”

“Amelia.” His quiet use of her given name gave her pause. She could count the number of times on one hand he’d used it in the span of her long employ. 

“Help me convince her to stay.” He lowered his voice, the quiet intensity imploring her. “Please.”

Mrs. Potts stared at him. “Why? What’s so special about her that we should? You know what we are, and what you’re capable of. I’m not at all sure it’s wise.”

Alasdair braced his hands on the table as he spoke. “She made me feel…something I haven’t felt in God knows how long, Amelia.” He looked away.

Mrs. Potts shook her head. “Alasdair,” she chided gently, “she remembers what she saw. She hasn’t run screaming yet, but I’m not sure we should tempt fate like this.”

He closed his eyes and gave a slight shake of his head. “I won’t do it again. It’s been too long since Whale was here is all. We’ll send word for him and all will be well.”  
  
“You can’t know that.”  
  
His gaze grew intense, his voice ragged with emotion. “Yes, I do. I know the rules, I’ve lived by them for centuries, with rarely a break, and will continue to do so. _I don’t want to hurt her._ And you’ll be with me to help convince her she’ll be safe.”  
  
Mrs. Potts stared into his gaze, wanting nothing more than to believe him, to give him a chance at some kind of joy, some hopeful flame in his long life. But she couldn’t shake the worry.

“And what if you’re wrong? What if she becomes hysterical, or goes mad or—“  
  
“Then I’ll do what I have to. I’ll take the memories.”

“That could go terribly wrong in itself!”

“It’s a risk I have to take, but I won’t send her away. I can’t, God help me.”

Mrs. Potts sighed, closing her eyes. His words struck a chord in her. _God help us all, indeed_ , she thought resignedly.

She opened her eyes and looked him square in his own. “I will help you.”

He grasped her hands, his voice thick with relief. “Amelia, thank you.”

She pulled a hand free and held it up. “I have conditions.”

“Name them.”

She gave a rueful chuckle. “You’re too old to be so hasty.” She paused, collecting her thoughts. “First thing, you let me do this my way.”

“Yes.”

“You’ll stay in front sitting room until I come back downstairs.”

“Why not my study?”

“And take her back to the place she was almost made luncheon? You’re smarter than that.”

He scowled, but agreed. “Fine.”

“And if she reacts poorly, you let me do my best to calm her down before you interfere.”

He hesitated. “I…”

“No. It’s part of my deal. You wait for me before you do anything, or I won’t help you. Give me your word.”

He pulled away from her and began to pace, slightly agitated. “You’re asking an honorable vow…from me?”  
  
“Yes. I know you have it in you.” She smirked. “After all, Miss French is still alive.”

He stopped, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her. “That was sneaky. Fine, then. I…agree to your conditions, Mrs. Potts.”

She heaved a sigh, nodding resolutely. “Right then. Shall I go up?”

~

Mrs. Potts returned to the servants’ rooms on the third floor, stopping just outside of the room Belle was occupying. She managed a slight knock, balancing the heavy tray momentarily in one hand. 

Belle heard the knocks and turned from her position at the window. She had been gazing over the grounds she could see from the room, taking in the lovingly-tended lawn. 

Two long reflecting pools flanked the yard, and two tall trees stood in each far corner. Broad patches of shade underneath the branches begged for a picnic to be spread between the trunks, and a merry breeze rustled the leaves, causing them to whisper. Belle imagined they were speaking to her, coaxing her to come and waste the afternoon in natural splendor. Flowering bushes of roses and Forget-Me-Nots dotted the yard in festive bunches, and she wished to sit near them and watch the various winged creatures play among the blooms. Belle sighed wistfully before turning to the door. Such a lovely, magical home, ’twas a pity she felt her time there was drawing to a close. 

“Please come in.” She smoothed her skirts and patted her hair to make sure it was neat enough before the door opened.

Mrs. Potts came in with a refreshment-laden tray and set it on the fireplace mantle. “Now, dear, look at you. Up and about and a bit of color in your cheeks. I’m glad to see it. Would you like to take some refreshments?”

Belle nodded. “Yes, please.”

“Were you looking at the grounds?” Mrs. Potts asked while she busied herself preparing a cup of tea and biscuits for Belle.

Belle smiled, a touch dreamily. “Oh, yes. They’re so beautiful. I was thinking how lovely it would be to take a picnic underneath one of the tall trees, or—or maybe give a lesson in such natural beauty.” She watched the housekeeper’s reaction for clues, but Mrs. Potts just smiled enigmatically.

“We’re very lucky to have such talented gardeners here, Miss French. It’s all because of them we have this veritable Eden to enjoy. Now, come and have your tea.”

Belle took the cup and settled herself on the edge of the bed, sipping the warm, sweet liquid and humming in pleasure. She replaced the cup back in the saucer, and took a deep breath, preparing to salvage what she could of the odd situation.

“Mrs. Potts, I-I’d like to apologize for my earlier behavior, if you’ll let me.”  
  
Mrs. Potts paused, teacup halfway to her lips. “Why, whatever for, dear?” She set the cup down without drinking. “What is it you think you’ve done to warrant apologizing?”

Belle cringed. “What I said before you left, about his Lordship. I know you said you don’t think I’m mad, but…”

“But what—”

“But I can’t help but wonder if that’s not true, if you really do think I’m mad, and if all this is just a courtesy before his Lordship sends me back from whence I came.” She felt tears begin to prick at her eyes, and her cheeks turned red. “I’m sorry, I just…I feel as if I’ve surely made a mess of things, and ruined my best chance for the position and I can’t—“

“Oh, hush now, sweet girl.” Mrs. Potts placed her tea on the floor and moved to sit next to Belle, taking the tea from her hands and setting it on the beside table. “Hush, don’t get yourself in a tizzy.”

“But what must his Lordship think? You heard what I said before, why would he want someone with such a ridiculous imagination teaching his ward?” She said dejectedly. 

Belle wasn’t normally given to self-pity, but she could practically see her chance going up in smoke before her. Lucky for her, Mrs. Potts hadn’t a self-pitying bone in her body and didn’t stand for it in others.

“That you must stop right this moment.” She spoke gently, but with a decided tone that brooked no argument. “You’re not mad, you’re not being booted from the house, and your imagination is a wonderful thing.” She smiled with maternal affection. “Lord knows our Miss Emma could use some imagination right now; she’s had sadness enough to last a lifetime.”

Belle looked at her, hardly daring to believe what she was hearing. “So, his Lordship won’t ask me to leave?”

Mrs. Potts chuckled. “No, dear. I don’t think the thought has even crossed his mind.”

“Oh, good lord, I’m so happy to hear it!” Belle said on a relieved laugh. “I was afraid I’d well and truly ruined it for a moment!”

Mrs. Potts looked at Belle, seeing her relief, and her thoughts spun as she tried to decide how much to reveal to the young woman. She had no idea if Belle would be amenable to _strange_ folk like them. But, perhaps, if she took things slowly…

_Baby steps, Amelia._

She took a deep breath. “Miss French—“  
  
“Please, call me Belle, Mrs. Potts.” Belle smiled, laying a hand atop the housekeeper’s. “Truly, I don’t mind.”

Mrs. Potts returned the smile, albeit a bit hesitantly. “Alright then. Belle, I’ve…I’ve got something I want to share with you, but I do hope it won’t cause distress.”

Belle’s smile grew puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Mrs. Potts paused, gathering her words carefully. “Those of us in this house are somewhat…different than other people.” She stopped, looking at Belle and unsure of how to go on without scaring the wits out of the young woman. She saw Belle looking back at her with a clear, inquisitive gaze.

“Please, go on, Mrs. Potts.” Belle’s natural curiosity had been piqued at the vague admission and she found herself desirous that Mrs. Potts should continue.

“Some of us can, ah, _connect_ in certain ways to certain parts of nature around us, and put them to use to our advantage.”

Belle tried to puzzle through the housekeeper’s nebulous speech. Her thoughts immediately turned to Ruby and her affinity for her Grandmother’s garden. And being an oddity was not lost on Belle; she remembered all too clearly the feeling of being like an animal in a menagerie merely because she was fond of learning.

“Well, I’m certainly no stranger to feeling unusual; I’ve had my fair share of unflattering comments to that end,” she said wryly. “But I do have a…friend who is, well, _remarkable_ with plants I would say. Her roses are my favorite in the world…” She trailed off into memory before collecting herself and giving a small shake of her head. “Forgive me, you were saying?”

“It…might be easier if I show you.” Mrs. Potts looked at Belle, sending a prayer heavenward that she wouldn’t be frightened by what she was about to see.

“By all means.”

“Hand me your water glass, dear, and be so kind as to hold out your hand?”

Belle did as she was told, extremely curious. She watched Mrs. Potts take the glass and tip it slowly over Belle’s palm. 

Belle gave a small gasp, bracing for the water to splash on her and and down to the pretty counterpane of the bed, but to her astonishment, the opposite happened. 

The water collected and formed a softly swirling ball above her palm. She looked at Mrs. Potts in rapt wonder, her mouth was open in a wide, amazed smile.

“Oh, goodness,” she breathed. “How…how are you doing that? That’s incredible!”

Mrs. Potts felt keen relief, and a dash of hope, at Belle’s lack of fear. She smiled and placed her hand just above the water ball, making a few gentle motions with her fingers, and the water formed a shape. Belle watched and let out a delighted laugh.

Mrs. Potts had formed the water into the shape of a rose. A clear, sparkling rose. She looked back up at Belle, who was beaming in wonder.

“Can I touch it?”

Mrs. Potts nodded. “Yes, just be careful. Too much and it will collapse.”

Belle brought a finger to the edge of the water petals and felt the fluid swirl against the tip of her extended digit. She felt like a child who just found out Father Christmas was real.

“I’m going to take it back now, Belle.” She said gently, aware that things could still go wrong.

Belle nodded, slightly disappointed. “Oh, of course. Did this…tax you?”

Mrs. Potts shook her head. “No, no, it’s fine. We’ve so much more to discuss and the day is growing older, that’s all.” 

Belle sat still as Mrs. Potts took the rose back and let the water fall into the glass.

Belle’s emotions swirled within her, refusing to land as Mrs. Potts returned the water to normal. The world had suddenly become much more amazing and she was overflowing with curiosity. It was somewhat overwhelming and she stayed quiet for a moment.

Mrs. Potts looked at her with concern. “Are you alright, dear? Have I frightened you after all?”

Belle shook her head, a small smile on her face. “No. No, I’m alright. I just…cant quite think what to do next.”

“Well, let’s start simple, shall we? Our tea’s gone cold, but if you follow me down to the kitchens I’ll see about getting the cook to make you something to eat and then you can come back up to your room to rest, how does that sound?”

Belle looked about again and smiled, a warmth spreading through her chest. “ _My_ room…here. Thank you.” She made to rise, but stopped, turning to Mrs. Potts. “And…thank you for sharing what you did. I would imagine it was rather difficult to trust a veritable stranger with something so precious. I am grateful.” 

Mrs. Potts stared at her in surprise for a moment, then waved it off, slightly uncomfortable with Belle’s display of empathy. “Oh, go on with you, then. Downstairs.” But in truth, she was secretly pleased.

She gathered the forgotten tea items back onto the tray with Belle’s help, and the two of them made their way downstairs in companionable silence. The older woman prayed Belle’s curiosity was as open as it seemed, and the younger was making lists of questions in her head.

~

Alasdair had been in the front parlor for some time, checking the mantle clock frequently and growing impatient. His mind whirled, like a thick cauldron brew. Lumiere had come to check on him, looking at Alasdair as if he would pounce at any second. He was finally dismissed with a cold snarl after his third visit and hadn’t been back since.

He’d counted the lines painted on the green silk walls and the embellishments on the matching furniture until he felt he’d go mad. He’d paced the edges of the long rectangles of color made by the setting sun on the mahogany floor until he was half-contemplating stepping inside the rays, if only for the guaranteed distraction from the twisting of his inkblot thoughts that grew more corrupt as the light faded.

The evil in Alasdair writhed and coaxed him towards slaking his various lusts in Belle’s nubile body, but there was still a spark of humanity left in him. He clung to it like a drowning man, his grasp on it slippery and threatening to give out.

He wanted to steal her and keep her for himself, away from the eyes of the world, and at the same time devour her, taste her and see if she was as intoxicating inside as out. 

But if he gave in to the darkness and desecrated her for his own sick pleasure, he was exactly the monster he knew himself to be deep down and deserved the fatal punishment levied from the Crown.

His morose reverie was interrupted as Mrs. Potts knocked and entered the parlor. His eyes immediately searched for the petite brunette and he felt his control falter when he realized she wasn’t there.

“Where is she?”

“She’s resting.”

“I told ye I want to see her _today_. Did ye forget?” He seethed, finding himself unable to bear her disobedience this time.

Mrs. Potts crossed her arms, unimpressed, and raised an eyebrow at him. “No, my Lord. But did _you_ forget you made a deal with me to let me do this my way?”

He closed his eyes against the rage within and clenched his jaw, his voice lowering. “No, damn ye, I didnae forget. Just tell me where she is.”

“She’s had a very long, unusual day. She needs to rest—“

“Tell me!” He roared. Alasdair loomed over her, his expression malevolent, fists clenched at his sides.

Mrs. Potts took a startled step back, a spark of fear between her ribs, and swallowed convulsively. Rarely had he unleashed his temper on her. “Sh-she’s upstairs in the servants’ quarters. I’ve given her the blue room, it’s the only one with a single bed.”

He pulled back and paused. “She’s alone?”

“Yes, my Lord.” 

 _Alone. Alone. ALONE._ The thought tapped the inside of his mind, like the rattle of stygian talons against a window. He grew still.

“My Lord?”

The talons kept tapping, spreading spiderweb cracks along his resolve until it shattered. He gave a dark, humorless chuckle. An evil smile overtook his face and he turned his head towards the door, his eyes slowly starting to glow. He let out a whispered exclamation, so faint it was almost missed. Almost.

“ _Mine._ ”

In a blink he was gone, the door ricocheting off the wall and vibrating from the force of his precipitous exit.

Mrs. Potts was momentarily stunned. She'd left Belle alone without checking.  _Foolish, foolish woman!_   Fear slid sickly into her gut and burst through her in a wave that threatened to make her sick.

She felt bile rise at the back of her throat, but pushed the feeling away and ran after him as fast as she could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOH HE BROKE HIS PROMISE.
> 
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> (Sidetone: who else thinks OUAT 5b could take a seriously sick turn sometime soon? 'Once Upon An American Horror Story', anyone? :P)


	8. Chapter 8

Belle was propped up in bed against the pillows, clad in her nightgown with Sense & Sensibility open in her lap. She’d been trying to read since settling in, but had managed only to stare at the same page since she opened the book.

She looked out the window, the last of the day’s light starting to disappear from view, and contemplated her very long, very odd day.

Fainting for the first time in her life, right in front of her new employer, was an interesting way to begin a business relationship. Though Belle wasn’t versed in the usual ways of employment, she had a strong feeling swooning wasn’t on the list.

Lord Alasdair was definitely a mystery. She had felt excitement and danger in the depths of his voice, but she had never felt personally threatened. And he never actually touched her. He had merely been…quite close.

Besides, she’d been the one to push against him, metaphorically speaking. Lord Alasdair had given her chances to leave, and she kept pushing, some dark part of her wanting the battle, tempting her with it’s seductive begging. She could still feel it deep inside her, it’s sinful tendrils lying in wait to curl around her senses again and drag her under.

She’d never felt so alive.

_Good god, I’m fit for the asylum._

Belle still had so many questions that didn’t get answered in the kitchen over the light supper. Mrs. Potts had seemed most interested in Belle’s opinion of her room, of all things. Distracted by it, really.

_…You work here now, so that room is yours. You’ll want to claim it as such…_

She had looked at Belle expectantly, but Belle had been puzzled at the odd turn of topic. The room wasn’t hers, not really. It belonged to his Lordship, why should she lay claim to property not her own?

She looked back down at the book in her lap, smoothing a hand lovingly over the pages ad she tried to remember Mrs. Potts’ earlier words, the way she stressed them so. She found she loved this little space as much as the first time she saw it, and despite her most unusual day and the unfamiliar surroundings and people, still felt safe in those four walls.

Belle looked to the window again, seeing the dark had settled over the yard, and moved to look out once more before retiring.

The deep shadows gave an ethereal quality to the yard that Belle found mesmerizing. The shade between the trees had darkened to inky blackness, and she could just barely make out the flitting glow of fireflies dancing in the shadows. The reflecting pools were glassy and still under the moonlight, the flowers folded into sleep.

It was unearthly, and tempting. She wanted to dash out the back door and feel the cool grass under her bare feet. She wanted to be bare under the moonlight, to splash in the pools, to feel a heated gaze on her naked form while she—

Belle scolded herself for the improper turn of her thoughts, fanning her heated cheeks with her hand. She settled back in bed with her book, trying to read a few pages before sleeping, but was interrupted by a noise in the corridor outside her room.

Throwing back the covers, she moved slowly to the door and pressed her ear against it.

“Miss French.”

His Lordship’s low growl so close to her ear startled her and she jumped, her pulse rising rapidly. Several beats passed and she relaxed, pressing her ear cautiously against the door once more. She couldn’t hear anything in the hall, and was getting ready to pull away when he spoke again, but gentler, a coaxing note wrapped around his words.

“Be so kind as to open the door so that we may speak for a moment?”

Belle frowned at the door. Despite her personal feelings in the moment, he had to know how inappropriate it was for him to be there, didn’t he? The afternoon was one thing, but to visit her room when night had fallen was another thing indeed.

She pressed her hands to the door, and leaned her cheek against the cool wood. “Forgive me, my Lord. I’m in no fit state to receive company at present and I’d very much like to go back to my rest.”

_Oh, you little liar._

She heard a silky, interested hum in response.

“On my honor, Miss French, it will take but a moment. I simply wish to see how you fared after your…long day.”

She very much wanted to open the door. Still, she hesitated for the sake of propriety.

“I’m well, my Lord, thank you, but I really must insist—“

Her refusal was interrupted by what sounded like a small scuffle and another voice outside her door. Ever curious, she grabbed her shawl from where it was draped on the bed and wrapped her shoulders before she pulled open the door.

Lord Alasdair and Mrs. Potts were glaring angrily at each other. He noticed Belle first and pinned her with his gaze, his eyes hungry and glowing much like before. Mrs. Potts was to his side, still staring at him with murderous intent.   
Belle saw his eyes race quickly over her nightgown-clad form before he brought them to hers and felt a tugging warmth low in her belly at his scrutiny. She steeled herself against the feeling and looked right back.

Be brave, Belle.

~

“Just leave her be!” Mrs. Potts said in between gasps, having run as fast as she could up the stairs. “If you want to see her so badly, you’ll bloody well have to convince her now, won’t you?” She glared at him, still breathing hard. “Or, we could always go back down and talk like the civilized beings we pretend to be, and let her sleep. What’s your choice, my Lord?”   
Alasdair seethed, glaring daggers at her before turning back to Belle’s door.

Only to find it open, with the object of his thoughts looking at him with surprise, a little frown creasing her forehead. The rage dropped from his face as he beheld her.

She was dressed in a plain white nightgown that covered her from chin to toes, the only embellishment a tiny blue ribbon about her neck. Her hair was braided over one shoulder, a few stray curls having escaped to frame her face.

He raked his gaze over her, stopping at her tiny, bare feet, before his eyes travelled up again to meet hers. She looked like a tired angel. Her blue eyes were clear and luminous, taking him in at her doorstep. The sight bewitched him and he felt himself being pulled towards her, taking a step closer.

He heard her heartbeat pick up speed, and she crossed her arms over her chest.

Alasdair spoke, his voice dropping low, brogue thickening into something rich and dark and a corner of his mouth moved upwards slowly.

“Miss French, I’m sorry t’ have disturbed your rest.”  
  
 “It’s alright, my Lord. I wasn’t quite asleep yet. What did you need?” She responded politely, but warily.

“I was…hoping to speak with ye soon.”

“We’re speaking now.”

“Aye.”

She tightened her arms around herself. “Then what did you wish to say, my Lord?”

_Invite me in. Let me taste you._

“Are ye…comfortable in your lodgings, Miss French?”

She shifted a little. “Yes, my Lord. Mrs. Potts helped me settle in nicely.” She looked to the mentioned woman, a smile lighting her face.

Mrs. Potts spoke up, having regained her energy. She tried to coax him away from Belle. “And there we are, my Lord. Safe and sound and still with us. Now, why don’t we go back downstairs and—“

“Let me in.” Alasdair interrupted her, directing the statement to Belle. He heard Mrs. Potts gasp behind him. He stared at Belle, his gaze boring into her, trying to convince her to give him what he wanted.

Belle remained outwardly placid, though he heard her heart galloping in her chest. She tilted her head and regarded him like he was a schoolboy who’d spoken out of turn.

“Do you always get your way like that, Lord Alasdair?”

He blinked. “Normally.”

“I see. Well, perhaps you could try being more polite with your requests?”    
  
“Polite?” He sneered before realizing it was counterproductive to his wants. He made an attempt to neutralize his expression, but it was too late.

Belle raised an eyebrow and gave him a small, ironic smile. “Well, I’d imagine you’d attract more bees with flowers than mere soil, wouldn’t you agree?”

Mrs. Potts snorted. Alasdair shot her a dirty look before turning back to Belle.  
  
“Miss French, may we please speak inside?”

“No.” She said. He drew his brows together and levied a dark frown at her, but she merely smiled. “But thank you for asking nicely.” She looked to Mrs. Potts. “Goodnight, ma’am.”

And with that, Belle stepped back and shut the door.

~

Desperation burned through Alasdair but he managed to keep himself under control, despite his fervent desire to find a way to rip the goddamn door down and show her exactly how nice he could be.

He registered Mrs. Potts still standing next to him and turned to her, his lust turning to cold fury.

“Did you tell her?”

Mrs. Potts grew still at the frigid tone of his voice. Nothing good ever came after that tone.

“Answer me.”

The fear Mrs. Potts felt in the parlor deepened but she refused to let it show.

“Tell her what, exactly, Lord Alasdair? You’ll have to be more specific, for we spoke of a great many things.”

“Did you tell her,” He said, deadly calm, “about me?”

“N-no. Not exactly.” Mrs. Potts faltered.

“Then what did you tell her?” He moved towards her, his hands clasped behind his back. “I could feel the damned barrier, and you knew I wished to speak with her tonight.” He was very close and leaned into her personal space.

“What did you say?” He stressed each word individually.

“You and I made a deal—“

“ _What the hell did ye say t’ her?_ ” He growled like a feral animal, baring his teeth, his fangs sharp and prominent and very close to her face.

Normal folk would have run for the hills at the sight, but Mrs. Potts was not normal. She drew herself up and stared him in the eyes.

“Put those away, you don’t scare me." She spoke through her own teeth, tired of his ridiculous display. "I told her to claim the room as her own. She is planning to stay and needs to feel safe, you great bully, though heaven knows how if this is how you’re going to act!” She pushed at him and he fell away, looking momentarily stunned at her admission before a dangerously cold calm settled over his features.

“I’m going out.”

“What? To where?” Mrs. Potts said in surprise, but he didn’t reply. “Where are you going? What are you going to do?”

He was silent the entire way down.

~

After shutting the door, Belle went back to bed and sat heavily, her heart thundering madly in her chest.

She’d argued and denied his Lordship all day, and had still come away with a new home and a new position. Not to mention a lovely room all her own and a new, interesting friend in Mrs. Potts. Maybe even in Lumiere. And there was still her charge to meet.

She felt positively giddy from her actions and barked out a small laugh. She had no idea where that much bravery had come from, but she had a feeling Ruby would be proud.

Her heart twinged a little thinking of her friend, and she resolved to write to her soon, to begin to mend the rift between them. Perhaps she’d even be allowed to visit someday, after Belle had settled in with her charge and established a good routine, of course. But there was no reason why she couldn’t write soon. Despite their fight, Ruby was her lifelong friend, and right now, Belle needed their friendship badly.

She pulled the covers up to her chin, and wondered, after such an odd day, what on earth could be waiting for her tomorrow?

She couldn’t wait to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 1,000 views on this weird little story. You guys are wonderful. Thank you for all the comment love so far! It makes my day :)


	9. Chapter 9

While Belle slept and dreamed, Alasdair chased a far darker pursuit.

A local tavern owner had made a deal with him a century ago that availed Alasdair of the use of an upstairs room and a willing serving girl for a night. The deal was...advantageous to both parties, and so none who had inherited the tavern ever sought to free themselves from this dark deal. 

He always picked a simple lass to satisfy himself with, for those minds were easier to erase than intelligent ones, and he was able to flout the rules against him without incurring sovereign wrath—so long as he left the girl alive.

He made use of the old pact that night, slipping in the back so as not to attract the patrons’ notice and brushing through the shadows by the bar to alert the proprietor in his quiet way. Alasdair had a room key; an ancient, iron thing and as his eyes connected with the man behind the bar, he was given a short nod of understanding.

He made his way up the darkened stairs to his room, furnished well-enough for his needs, and waited, tapping the key against his palm impatiently. He didn't have to wait long.

A light knock sounded at the door, and a young woman poked her head into the room shyly. He smiled, warm and welcoming and beckoned for her to enter fully.

She came to him, curtseyed in the rough manner of a tavern girl and looked up at him with big eyes. Brown, he noted. Not blue, like the summer skies. And hair the color of straw, not the warm brown of fresh earth, with hints of ebony to rival the depths of night.

But, she would do. She needed to be alive and a willing vessel, despite how badly he wished the pulse he saw jumping in her somewhat tanned neck was under paler skin. Or how he wished her scent was that of roses and tea, and not the bite of lye soap and ale.

He mentally shook himself. He came for a purpose and to that he’d apply himself.

He extended a hand to her and she took it, letting him pull her close to where he stood against the bed.

“Have you been told what’s expected of you?” He slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him.

She nodded, a blush staining her cheeks. “To be good to your Lordship, and do what you ask and there’s a fine coin in it for me after.”

“And you are amenable?”

“What’s that, milord?”

He smiled, darkly indulgent. “It means willing.”

“Of course, milord.”

“Good.” He’d of course leave her a small pile of gold, the irony of it not lost on him, but she’d remember nothing. He always left them payment, and let the owner take care of the explanations as to why there was money but no memories of having made it.

“Tell me, dearie, have you bathed today?”

“Y-yes, milord.”

“Splendid.” He squeezed the girl a little, feeling her soft curves against him and closed his mind against the wish that it was _her_ in his arms instead. “Look at me, dearie.”

She raised her brown eyes to his and he began to speak in low, soothing tones. Her pupils grew wide, her eyelids fluttering drowsily as she listened, drowning in his words.

“Keep your eyes on mine, dearie. That’s right, good girl.” He slid a hand up to her neck, feeling the slow, steady beat of her pulse as his voice lulled her into a trance.

“I’m going to kiss you, right here,” he pressed into her pulse gently with his thumb, nudging her head back. “Tilt your head for me like this, yes.”

Alasdair scratched her lightly with his thumbnail and was pleased when she sighed. He lowered his mouth to her skin, his fangs sharp and ready, and sunk them into her neck.  
  
She stiffened instinctively, giving a small cry, but he held her tight, one hand at the back of her head with his other arm around her waist supporting her as she swooned slightly as he sucked. He hummed soothingly and she settled, bringing her arms to clutch his biceps. 

Her blood filled his mouth, warm and satisfying enough, yet lacking. It was a simple meal and he'd force himself to be content with that, despite his true desire for the banquet currently asleep in his manor, innocent to his depravity.

A moan reached his ears, and he pulled back to check on her, but stopped short at what he saw. 

She’d changed; her blonde hair now a deep brown, fluttering eyelids over bright blue irises with their wide pupils. A shock went through him, landing at his groin, and he stared for a moment before turning and pressing her down into the mattress and latching onto her neck once more.

She moaned again, and he ground his pelvis into hers, his rapidly hardening cock pressing against the soft notch between her thighs. He wanted nothing more than to be naked with her, thrusting deep inside her lush body and taking luxurious, deep pulls at her neck.

He was lost in the haze of lust and feeding and belatedly registered small hands weakly pushing at him. He stopped drinking, pulling back to beg Belle’s forgiveness, and was met with half-lidded brown eyes and mussed blonde hair.

He launched away from her as if the bed were on fire, a hand covering his mouth as his stomach threatened to reject it’s contents, his desire cold as ashes in the grate.

He’d hallucinated Belle in her stead.

She was pale against the counterpane, her breathing shallow. He forced himself back to her, taking her pulse with one hand while biting the thumb of the other and spreading a drop of blood over the puncture wounds in her neck. The holes began to close and while her heartbeat was weaker than it should be, she’d live.

She was a hairsbreadth away from slipping unconscious, and he leaned in close to her ear to whisper what he always did.

“ _Forget me_.”

The clink of gold coins on the nightstand made him sick with guilt for the first time in over a century, and he left with haste.

~

Belle awoke to the sound of a window latch being unfastened and cracked an eye to see a young maid seemingly readying the room for the day. She pulled herself upright, sleepily wondering why there was a someone bustling about her small room like she was lady of the manor.

The maid must have noticed Belle had woken, for she turned and bobbed a slight curtsey, giving a small apology for having woken Belle.

Belle scrubbed a hand over her face, giving the maid a tired smile. “No, it’s quite alright. Just give me a moment to return to the land of the living.”

Pushing herself up and out of bed, she moved to the mirror to get a look at any minor miracles sleep might have done. She felt rested enough, and wasn’t too worse from yesterday’s wear. Her hair was a mess, but that could be seen to. 

She heard a polite goodbye before the door opened and shut and she turned, regarding the door thoughtfully. Waking to a maid was something she’d assumed she’d left behind given that her station had changed. It _was_ very nice to wake to a familiar routine, but she’d need to speak with Mrs. Potts. It wouldn’t do for the staff to think she was putting on airs.

Memories of the previous night flitted through her mind as she pulled out a day dress, shaking out the gauzy fabric to rid it of the travel wrinkles. Her belly clenched as the feelings and details resurfaced and she pressed the dress to her chest, closing her eyes and losing herself to reminiscing.

The heat and longing in his gaze, begging to speak with her privately. How she’d teased the poor man, demanding his politeness. A delicious little shiver ran down her spine as she recalled his flummoxed expression as she shut the door in his face. She had been reckless, pushing against him, denying the Earl yet again, just to see what he would do. She’d felt brave standing there with him adhering to her wishes and wondered if he’d always obey her so.

Belle was jerked back to earth as her stomach gave an unladylike growl and she gave a short laugh at her silliness, pressing her hand to her face and feeling the warmth of a blush. She set to changing and then it was down to first break her fast, then receive her marching orders.

Thank goodness no one could read her thoughts, for she was being very naughty, indeed.

~

When she reached the kitchen, Belle hung in the doorway for a moment, watching the cozy domestic scene before her.

Mrs. Potts was directing the cook, gesturing here and there, sometimes pointing off to the larders. The air was rich with the scent of the day’s first bread, nestled in towels to keep it warm from the oven, with rashers of bacon sizzling merrily in a pan, tended lovingly by an undercook.

Warm brown walls held the kitchen’s occupants and wide windows let in the morning light, soft yellow-orange rectangles cast across the rough stone floor.

Someone pressed a cup of tea into Belle’s hands and gestured for her to sit on one of the upholstered stools sat round the large, high table in the center of the room. Belle added cream and sugar to her liking from the small porcelain set in front of her, and settled in as manor life buzzed like a summer hive.

“Well, good morning to you, then. Sleep well?”  
  
Belle nodded, finishing a sip from her cup as the older woman took a seat beside her. “Yes, quite well. I was more tired than I realized last night and slipped right into sleep after—“ She cut off, her cheeks flushing. “A-after I was…alone.”

Mrs. Potts made an noncommittal grunt. “Would you like breakfast? There’s bread and bacon, and our undercook can make you up an egg or two, if you like.” Belle smiled in gratitude. “That would be lovely, Mrs. Potts, thank you.”

Mrs. Potts gave a few words to the undercook and set about fixing her own cup of tea. Belle was silent for a few moments before giving voice to the thoughts that were nagging the back of her mind. “Will I…see Lord Alasdair this morning?” She looked into her cup, toying with the edge as she spoke.

Mrs. Potts paused mid-sip, looking at Belle over the rim. She swallowed and took a moment to pull the right words together.

“Ah, yes. Yes, you’ll see him today.” She stood abruptly, pushing her cup to the side. “He had a…late night, so I wouldn’t expect it much before luncheon, however.” She grabbed a cloth and began to wipe the spotless table with broad strokes. “He’ll speak with you about Miss Emma, no doubt. Make an introduction, what have you.” She scrubbed a spot particularly hard.

Belle watched her, uncertain. “I see. Well, until then, may I explore the house and grounds? I’m curious to see where everything is and I’d like to stretch my legs a little.”

Mrs. Potts finally looked up, an uneasy expression flitting across her face. “O-of course. I’ll find you when I need you.” She shooed Belled towards the door, her manner suddenly gruff. “Out with you then, girl, go and poke around.”

Belle made her way upstairs, meandering slowly around the foyer, poking her head into various rooms and eventually stumbling upon a rather large library. 

She pushed open the door, her jaw falling open on a smile as she beheld the floor-to-ceiling shelves, stuffed with books and all sorts of genres, from what Belle could see. She practically skipped to the center of the room, leaning her head back to take it all in and feeling for the world like a child at Christmas. 

The room was unnaturally dark, and she moved to a curtained window, yanking the brocade back to let in the sunlight. It spilled over the books, lovingly caressing the shelves and adding more to the promise of wonders held within each bound copy. Belle didn’t know where to pull from first, and picked a shelf at her level at random.

Belle ran her hands along the spines, feeling the leather and embossed gold letters under her fingertips, each one calling to her in it’s own special language. She stopped at a slim volume, the title being one she’d only ever heard about but had never seen. She slipped the book from it’s place, and opened to the first page, moving to sit without looking on the nearest couch.

Soon, she was wrapped in the information, her fertile mind greedily soaking in the words laid out for her. She was lost to the world, and oblivious to the other person occupying the room with her.

~

Alasdair had been up the rest of the night, feeling heavily guilty after his late night escapade, and had chosen the first floor library in which to hide while the feeling worked itself out of his system.

His desire for Belle was thrust full in his face, and there was no way to escape it. He wanted her more than any woman he’d come across since—

_No._  

He yanked his mind back onto less enraging paths. ’Twas better to let the dead stay that way, especially when they weren’t worthy of remembering in the first place.

He’d buried himself deep in the shadows, hoping their darkness would suffocate the feelings in him for the little governess, with her bright eyes and dark hair and white neck. Delicious little thing, far too dear for his dirty hands.

He was still occupying the shadows, the curtains drawn tight against the light when the object of his obsession wandered into his hellish den.

His senses drew up tight and sharp, aroused by her presence, and he pushed himself further into the corner, as if to become a part of the walls and therefore remove the danger to this woman before him.

He watched her, sulking in the dark like a gargoyle as she flitted to the curtains and yanked them back,  letting the light in to cascade over her in flirting patterns that made her skin shimmer and his mouth water.

Her beautiful face was alight with pleasure, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright and happy. She smoothed her hands over a shelf and the books it held until she selected a slim volume and, still unaware of his presence, plopped onto a nearby chaise to devour her treasure.

He watched her sit in the sun, soaking up the rays and the words like some kind of fairy, and as she licked a fingertip to assist with turning the pages, his eyes were riveted to her pink tongue, wanting to draw it into his mouth as he kissed her, plundered her body with his own. 

He knew then he needed to leave before he pounced and dragged her into the shadows to live with him in his darkness, to be his only candle made to light the rest of his dark days on the planet. He gritted his teeth, and began to slink from the room, careful to keep in the shadows, but was stopped by a feminine gasp.

_Damn._

“Oh! Your Lordship!”

He steeled his resolve, and turned back to her. She was backlit by the warm sunshine, covered in heaven’s glow and his heart would have clenched, were it alive. Good god but he deserved this torture and it was nowhere near enough to make up for the previous night.

She gave him a nervous smile, on hand over her heart from the shock, the other sticking a finger in the book to keep her place. “Forgive me, I didn’t know you were in here. Have I disturbed you, sir?”

_In more ways than you know, dearest._

“No.” His voice was rusty and gruff from sitting silent for so long. He stared at the book in her hands, deciding it was safer than her face.

“It’s common sense.”

“I beg your pardon?” The words felt clumsy in his mouth, and his eyes lifted to hers in question. She lifted the little tome, showing him the spine. 

“ _Common Sense_ , the pamphlet by Thomas Paine. I’ve wanted to read this for so long and when I saw the copy, I couldn’t help myself.”

“I’m…I’m glad you were comfortable enough to take it.”

His words came out more droll than he meant and she blanched. “Quite right, my Lord. It was impolite not to ask. I just…dearly love to read.” She shrugged her shoulders, a wry smirk on her face. “I’m afraid I get a little carried away around books. I’ve been known to get lost for hours in a library. My mother used to—“ 

She stopped short, her sweet expression changing to one of pain briefly before shuttering. Alasdair longed to beg her to finish the statement, to share a part of herself that no one else saw and he’d do the same, welcome her into his dark mind and world and hope she could be that light in his sea of darkness.

He watched her stand and move to the shelf and he spoke before he realized.

“You can keep it.”

She turned back to him. “Sir?”

“The book, you can keep it, if you like.” He sounded pathetic to his own ears.

He could see he’d surprised her. She smiled again, she was always so quick to smile and so many were given to him. “I couldn’t, my Lord.”

“Please.”

Her sweet smile turned to a saucy little smirk and she lowered her eyes. “You remembered your manners, I see, my Lord.” She raised her eyes back to his and he could see them twinkle with mischief.

Was she flirting with him? Where in hell had she learned that? From one of her books, no doubt. Not that he was complaining. Quite the opposite.

_Two can play at that game, sweetheart._

“Someone once told me ‘you catch more bees with honey’, and I wanted to try it.”

She blushed, his reminder of the previous night eliciting a delightful reaction from her.

“In that case, my Lord, I shall hold onto this for now. Thank you.” She settled back down on the chaise. “May I ask, sir, why you’re up and about this early? Mrs. Potts mentioned you had a rather late night, and I expected to you still be indisposed until at least luncheon.

He froze, the guilt and shame of his feeding coming back in droves, crashing through his mind and making his head spin. His face must have registered his discomfiture, for the next thing he knew he was pressed into an armchair, his sun fairy hovering over him, a wealth of concern in her eyes and her pretty mouth a sympathetic moue.

He felt her hand on his cheek, his forehead, feeling for what? Fever? He wasn’t feverish, not as a token of illness anyway.

“Are you alright, my Lord? You seem unwell. Should I call for Lumiere?” She moved closer, her scent filling his nostrils and it was his turn to flee from her presence. She was too close and he was too weak.

“No! No, I’m fine, Miss French.” He pushed himself out of the chair, bolting to the other side of the room. Her nearness he couldn’t stand. He wasn’t thirsting for her in the moment, but he was dangerous to her nonetheless. He was confused, disturbed, pulled in several directions as to what he wanted from her but he knew that any closer to her and he’d snap.

“My Lord?”

“Enjoy your reading. I shall see you at luncheon.”

“But—“

“Until then.” He moved to exit, grasping the door handle like a lifeline.

“Wait! What about Miss Emma? Will she join us?”  
  
Alasdair blinked. He’d entirely forgotten his ward. Right. Emma. Miss French was here for a reason, other than to be his torment. He was to introduce the two ladies at luncheon. Right.

He spared a look back at her. “Ah, yes. Miss Emma, too.”

She rewarded him with a tentative smile, the sun still at her back and he was losing the battle, fast. He managed a nod before turning quickly and bolting to the hallway.

He shut the door behind him with more force than necessary and cringed when it echoed off the walls. He leaned against the door for a moment, closing his eyes against the too-bright foyer and the ridiculous, unmanageable feelings swirling inside him. He wasn’t a fucking schoolboy with a crush, so why was he behaving like this? He was centuries old, for Christ’s sake! He’d seen everything the world had to offer and she was just another woman. Nothing more.

He pushed off the door with a frustrated growl and headed upstairs to the light-tight master suite, his thoughts swirling. He’d prove it to himself. He’d prove she was just another human and beneath his notice, merely an employee and companion for his ward. He’d continue to hunt and fuck and she wouldn’t get in the way of any of it. He’d get a handle on this. She’d barely been in his home a day, she was just a novelty and when he bedded someone again, she’d cease to hold any fascination

Alasdair rang for Lumiere when he made it to his rooms, intending to lay down until luncheon and making the butler wake him in enough time. Once he’d left, Alasdair stripped of the clothing he still wore from the previous night, his gut clenching when he saw a small bloodstain on the dark silver collar of his shirt. Had Belle noticed?

He gave a frustrated yell, clenching his jaw and throwing the shirt in the fireplace. Who fucking cared if she noticed. All the better for her if she did and learned to fear him and what he was, even if she didn’t know. 

He hastily pulled off the rest of his clothing, ripping plackets of buttons off and dropping the pieces in a pile where he stood.  He slipped under the sheets, fully nude and angrily glared at the erection tenting the silk covering his lower body. His mind was made up, why wouldn't his body cooperate?

He brought his hand down, fisting it around his cock, intending to give himself a few strokes to take the edge off so he could sleep but images rose unbidden in his mind and he kept stroking.

_Taking Belle against a wall, sinking his cock and fangs into her at the same time and feeling her moans reverberate from her body into his, spreading her out on his bed with his head buried between her thighs, biting the soft flesh and making her climax as he drew blood from her core, pounding into her as she rode him, blood trickling down her neck from his bite at her throat, trailing over her breasts in thin rivulets as he—_

He came with a shout, his back arching and his seed spurting onto his stomach, his abnormally slow heartbeat picking up speed slightly at the exertion.

The liquid pooling at his navel lost what little warmth it had as it left his body, and he was disgusted with himself as he retrieved a torn piece of clothing from the floor to clean off.

He fell back into bed, dragging the covers up and falling to the death-like slumber of his kind.

~

Belle was distracted by her employers odd behavior and found it difficult to return to her reading. She managed a few pages but ultimately gave up with a tense huff. What was it about the inhabitants of his house and their ability to distract her from her favorite pursuit? Odd little lot. And the two of them, forever running from each other. How perfectly strange.

She shook herself. Forever, indeed. She’d been there but a day, hardly knew where anything was and had yet to meet her charge. These feelings and rumination weren’t appropriate. Not to forget, too, that he was her employer. Ruby’s warning came rushing back to her and she slammed the book closed in frustration.

Her thoughts refused to behave, and darted back to Lord Alasdair, his quick change from tense to flirting and back made her head spin, and his seeming desire to keep away from her was a puzzle.

His skin had felt smooth, but she’d noticed it wasn’t terribly warm as she’d touched his cheek and forehead. What could make someone feel that way? Poor circulation? She vowed to check and see if there were medical textbooks in the library, perhaps one of them held a clue. He was a giant mystery to her, and each encounter added more questions than it answered. 

She sighed, her mind sliding to the previous night’s thought of writing to Ruby, and she was seized with the rekindled desire to make amends with her friend. She moved back to the foyer, looking around impatiently until she spotted the door she remembered lead to a lovely room styled almost entirely in shades of green. If memory served, there was a desk in the corner by the largest window and she was sure to find parchment and ink there.

With a task in mind, she strode purposefully to the room, her mind formulating ways to apologize for her abrupt departure, and her harsh words to the only person to still love her in the world. She hoped Ruby would be forgiving and write back, perhaps even visit someday soon.

Reaching the little french writing desk exactly where she remembered it would be, she sat, finding paper and a quill and began to compose the letter that she hoped would heal the rift between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I mean yeah, what did you think he was going to do late at night? Pick flowers?
> 
> (Thank you to the wonderful Of_Princes_And_Savages :])


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet the dear Miss White.

By the time Belle finished her letter, Mrs. Potts had come to collect her for the midday meal with Lord Alasdair and Emma, and Belle felt a frisson of nerves as she folded the letter and addressed it, handing it to Mrs. Potts for posting.

Mrs. Potts was leading her to the dining room when a flying blur of blonde hair and gangly limbs came barreling through the foyer, nearly knocking over the housekeeper in its haste.

“Mrs. Potts! There you are! Did you know we’re having company at lunch? I heard from a kitchen maid that my new governess is coming to visit with us today and—oh! Is it you?”

Belle found herself under the curious and direct scrutiny of a very energetic young girl, and the affectionately exasperated glance of Mrs. Potts. She regarded them both in turn, a slightly dazed smile on her face.

“Why, yes, I do believe that’s me.” She focused her attention on the child, realizing this must be her young charge. “Belle French, miss, and I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.” She bobbed a tiny curtsey, charmed to her toes at the petite blonde.

“But you’re not ugly at all.” The girl announced, free with her thoughts as only children can be. 

“Emma!” Mrs. Potts exclaimed.

“What? Aren’t governesses supposed to be ugly? That’s what it said in the article I read. You’re supposed to pick one that’s smart enough but very unattractive.” She turned to Belle. “You’re not plain at all, though! Are you smart?”

“Alright, that’s enough of that, young Miss. You’ll end up keeping his Lordship waiting. The two of you can get better acquainted over luncheon.” Mrs. Potts took the girl’s shoulders and steered her towards the dining room, to the verbal chagrin of Emma, and Belle followed, an amused smirk on her face.

The three of them entered the large room, and Emma rushed to what was obviously her preferred seat. Belle noticed it was just to the left of the head of the table and she’d be sitting right next to Lord Alasdair when he arrived. The thought of him made her stomach clench nervously; she still hadn’t quite moved past their earlier encounter in the library.

Uncertain of where to seat herself, Belle hung back with Mrs. Potts for a moment, hoping to draw a bit of comfort from the older woman’s steady presence, but she was to be denied. Mrs. Potts gave her shoulder a gentle pat, and then she was off, leaving Belle alone in the big room with her new charge, both waiting on the Earl.

It wasn’t long after they entered that Alasdair walked in, and the nervous feeling in Belle’s stomach intensified. Emma gave a happy shriek and pushed out of her chair to throw her arms around his middle, giving a bouncing squeeze.

For a moment, Belle thought he would scold her or push her away, as his face was stony and unforgiving, but then it blossomed into something else entirely. Something that look suspiciously like affection and he returned the embrace, looking down at his ward warmly.

“Why, hello. Shall I attribute this to relief that you can now eat or genuine delight at my presence?”

Emma giggled, her voice muffled as she spoke into the front of his day coat. “Both!” She pulled back suddenly. “Oh! Look who I found in the foyer! She’s our guest today, is she not?”

Alasdair looked up, gazing at Belle as if he’d only just noticed she was there, the warmth draining from his face as his eyes widened slightly. She gave him a small smile, and was disappointed when he only returned a cool nod. “Yes, that she is.” 

He moved away from Emma, pulling out the chair at the head of the table and standing before it, waiting for the ladies to be seated before he moved.  A footman appeared out of nowhere to pull out Belle’s chair, startling her, and she brought a hand to her chest. She hadn't noticed anyone else in the room when they entered, where had he come from?

“They’re sneaky, aren’t they?” Emma said in a loud whisper as she slid into her own waiting chair. “That’s why I never wait for them to pull my chair out,” she scooted closer to the table, “I _always_ do it myself.”

“And we’ve spoken about that at length, young lady.” His Lordship’s voice was an affectionate growl as he chided Emma, placing a napkin in his lap and giving her a wry look. “You know better."

Emma sighed, world-weary thing that she was, and Belle could barely hold in a laugh. “Yes, sir.”

Another servant entered with their meal on a large, domed silver tray, and placed it towards the middle of the table, removing the dome to reveal two plates with an array of sliced cold ham, the flesh pink and inviting and a small green salad, and one plate with almost raw and thinly sliced venison. That plate was placed in front of his Lordship and Belle wondered at the odd choice of food. 

As the servant distributed the plates, Belle saw a small porcelain tureen left on the tray of what appeared to be some kind of dessert pudding, with a plate of late summer blackberries just to the side. The scents of sweetened cream and vanilla wafted to her and made her mouth water. She was hungrier than she’d thought, and smiled at the mental image of her stalking and devouring their lunch like a wild hunter.

Of course Emma saw her grin, and was immediately curious, Belle’s smile inciting one of her own. “What’s so funny, Belle?” 

“Emma. Your manners, please.” His Lordship raised an imperious eyebrow before bringing a small wineglass filled with a rich-looking red vintage to his lips.

“What’s so funny, _Miss_ Belle?”

The woman in question looked back and forth between her two meal companions for a moment before decide to answer honestly.

“Well, Miss Emma, I was just thinking that I’m famished enough to hunt down our meal like an African cheetah, and devour it in a single bite.” She lowered her voice, trying to delight the little girl, and wasn’t disappointed as Emma laughed and clapped her hands together. 

“Oh! Have you been to Africa? Have you seen many cheetahs? What _is_ a cheetah?” Emma’s eyes were wide with wonder and curiosity and Belle was all too happy to join in, losing herself in little girl’s imagination.

“No, I’ve never been, but I’ve read about it, and there are all sorts of animals that live there. A cheetah is a very big, very _spotted_ cat and it runs faster than anything else on earth.” Belle was quickly caught up in telling her story, her smile wide and excited. “And when it finds its prey, it grabs them by the neck, killing them in one fell swoop as it sinks it’s long canine teeth into the neck and—“

She stopped as Lord Alasdair sputtered, nearly choking on his drink. He set the glass down and brought his napkin to his mouth to mop any stray droplets, his eyes looking anywhere but at her. 

Belle was immediately mortified; here she was, going on and on about violent jungle cats, and probably scaring the wits out of poor Emma with her graphic details. She cringed.

“Forgive me, Lord Alasdair, Emma. I’m afraid my imagination ran away with me.” She said, a nervous laugh bubbling out of her.

“Oh, no, that was delightful! Please, Belle, do you know _more_ about Africa and it’s large cats?” Belle lifted her gaze to meet Emma’s and was surprised, and a little delighted, to find Emma was hanging on her words, practically perched on the edge of her seat and forgetting the honorific in her excitement.

She glanced at his Lordship and saw a twitch in his jaw that belied the calm on his face. He wouldn’t look at her, but he hadn’t outright scolded her, either…

Belle pulled her eyes back to Emma. “Ah, yes, I do.” She grew bold again, Emma’s obvious desire to learn resonating strongly with Belle. “And I can show you after we’ve finished. Perhaps your Lordship has books on the topic somewhere?” 

At some point, his stare had shifted again to Belle and while she had managed to ignore it for the duration of the resumed exchange with Emma, she was forced to look to him for permission to dig through his library. 

He was looking at her like she wasn't of this world, and not for the first time did Belle wonder exactly what was going on in that mind of his.

“Lord Alasdair?”

He came back to himself then, blinking away the wistful look on his face. “Yes?”

“Off with the fairies, were you?” She smiled in understanding, but he looked away, scowling a little.

“There’s a section of the library with books on world history and geography. You might try there.” His voice was cool, dismissive. “Perhaps we can continue with our lunch.”

Emma was giving him an odd look, her little brow furrowed in apparent suspicion. She caught Belle’s confused glance and gave a shrug, going back to her own meal.

They ate their cold fare in relative silence, though Belle longed to ask after Emma’s parents, or any other family she might have, and how she came to be the ward of an Earl. But even that was too far for her loose tongue, so she kept her peace and promised herself she’d ask his Lordship when they were through. 

The light dessert was left to them to serve, and Belle took it upon herself to dish out the fluffy vanilla confection and summer berries, passing a dish to Emma, who attacked it with gusto, but when she tried to pass a dish to Lord Alasdair, he declined, selecting the berries instead.

She sat back down with her own small bowl and catching Emma’s eye, managed to convey without words to slow down and eat with more decorum. Emma blushed, wiping her face with a napkin and resumed eating in a much more ladylike fashion, to Belle’s approval. She smiled and winked at the girl, taking a spoonful of pudding and berries into her mouth. The flavor burst over her tongue and she let out a little moan of enjoyment despite herself, at which Emma giggled.

“See?”

Belle sighed. “Alright, you win.” Emma gave an evil little laugh and dug deeper into her treat.

Belle swirled the spoon around the bowl, eating leisurely and letting her mind wander as it would as she gazed out the windows at the other end of the room. She felt…peaceful, and could almost imagine she was part of their little family. While she knew it was foolish to think that way, she let the sweet idea float around in her mind for a little bit. 

Naturally, her thoughts turned to her employer, the mysterious Lord Alasdair she’d known but a day and a half, sitting right next to her, yet they were miles apart. She chanced a look at him and her heart almost stopped in her chest.

He was staring right back, again, only this time his eyes were riveted to her mouth. She realized she’d been toying with the spoon between the dessert and her mouth and nearly put it down in embarrassment, but curiosity egged her on, goaded her to experiment.

Belle scooped a bit of the cream onto her spoon and brought it back to her mouth, turning the bowl of the utensil over gracefully to lick. Her lips fastened around it and she pulled the spoon out slowly before dipping it back into the bowl.

She looked at him from beneath her lashes to judge the effects. He was watching her every move,  eyes half-lidded and pupils dilated, but his mouth was set in a grim line and she couldn’t tell if he was pleased or angry with her little demonstration. A trill of sensation skittered down her spine at her small act of wanton rebellion, but when he abruptly pushed away from the table, she wasn’t so sure anymore.

_Silly thing!_

“If you’ll excuse me, there are a few pressing matters that require my attention.” He stood, moving to the bell pull and giving it a firm tug. “Emma, I shall see you at dinner. Miss French,” his eyes lingered on her face for a moment, “have a pleasant afternoon.”

Emma gave a small wave, her focus remaining with the dessert, oblivious to the charged atmosphere between the two adults, and Belle watched Alasdair hie himself out of the dining room as if it were on fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, thank you for reading, and this is open to suggestions/ideas!


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